


To Be the Queen

by Dark_Dhampir



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Harem, Alternate Universe - No Creatures of Grimm (RWBY), Because that's REALLY hard for me, F/F, F/M, Incest, Lesbian Sex, Martial Arts, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, No Maidens, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Patriarchy, Probably won't show the rape on-screen, Sex Magic, Sexual Slavery, Sibling Incest, Slaves, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2019-10-10 00:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17415146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Dhampir/pseuds/Dark_Dhampir
Summary: The Vytal Festival is held to choose the next King of the World of Remnant.  Every male contestant must have a female partner, known as a “sacrifice.”  A woman may register as her own sacrifice.  At the end of each round, the winner takes the loser’s sacrifice as their slave for life.  Ruby Rose thinks she can win the Festival and end it forever.





	1. Red Prologue—The Girl Who Would Be King

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Harem War](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/454556) by Radaslab. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Vytal Festival's set-up is based on a anime I read about back in high school (back when I read anime/manga indexes for fun) whose name I can’t remember. But, I remember the basic idea of treat-women-as-prizes idea. It was a pretty intense idea, though the anime still had a male protagonist, so it’s debatable whether or not the creators knew the full implications of the story they were telling (I never actually watched a single episode, so I might be wrong on that).
> 
> Some of you may be thinking this setup is horribly patriarchal, if not misogynistic. Good, you are a decent person! The entire point of this story is that the world is messed up, and our simple, honest soul is trying to change it or the better.
> 
> Some of the elements to the way society works in this universe and the whole sex-slavery-thing are inspired by "The Harem War" by Radaslab on Fanfiction.net (note, it's different from The Harem War by Vance McGill, also on Fanfiction.net and inspired by Radaslab's story. They're both great. Radaslab's story is much heavier on political machinations (and by heavy, I mean Superman would strain under the weight). On the other hand, Vance McGill censored the sex in his story (aside from one chapter), so if you want to read lemons, you might be dissatisfied with it. However, I wouldn't feel right if I didn't mention that, in Radaslab's story, the Wizarding World is somewhat homophobic. Harry and company aren't--much--but the world of the story is kind of hetero-centric. I don't think it's genuinely malicious, but it is annoying, and I felt the need to post a warning to that effect).

Ruby Rose walked into the snow-covered clearing.  She was surrounded on all sides by trees, but they were all about 30 feet away.  All around her stood a collection of wooden mannequins.  They held makeshift swords and shields at various angles.  Some looked to be attacking; others were focused on their defense.  The ends of the fake swords were tipped with blue ink; whatever they touched would come away with a dark blue mark.

The redhead rotated in place, examining the “forces” assembled against her.  Nodding in satisfaction, she pulled a stopwatch from her pocket.  “And . . . Go!” she declared.

As soon as she depressed the START button on the watch, Ruby reached down with her free hand and, like an old-fashioned gunslinger, drew a large red-and-black rectangle.  The device unfolded into a large scythe.  The girl planted its blade in the ground and began firing.  BANG!  BANG!  BANG!  The built-in sniper rifle roared.  Instantly, mannequins began flying away from blows to the head or torso.   The teenager turned in a circle, continuing to fire.  Again and again she took them out with shots to their vitals.  Sometimes she took the sword-arms off too, but she never touched the shields.

Touching the shields counted as a miss.

The magazine fell to the ground as Ruby completed the circle.  She wasted no time and yanked the scythe free while rushing forward.  She stopped in front of her enemies, using her remaining moment to swing the scythe around and buried the blade in the head of one of the dummies, curving around the raised shield that had guarded it from her shots.  At the same time, she jammed the fresh magazine she’d pulled from her belt into the chamber.  Pulling the trigger, she blew the head of the mannequin behind it off and finished cleaning the head the blade was buried in into two.

Using the force of the shot, Ruby launched herself backwards.  Arms straining, she spun the scythe around, turning herself into a spinning red blur of death.  She landed, decapitating two more mannequins on the opposite side of the circle.

The redhead fired at the ground, launching herself into the air.  Spinning around, she fired repeated into the assembled enemies.  Her new rounds were more powerful than the previous ones; exploding on contact, they destroyed whatever they hit, sending the adjacent mannequins flying as well.  

Ruby landed and charged at unbelievable speeds, rose petals trailing behind her.  She hacked and slashed her targets, reducing them to kindling.  She still fired the rifle a few times to get around the shields, but mostly she relied on momentum and muscles.  She also made sure to take out any intact dummies she found on the ground.  She let not a single one escape. 

Fail to take out all your enemies, and one of them could return to sucker punch you in the back of the head.

At last, she stopped in the middle of the circle or rather what had been the middle of the circle.  Now it was the epicenter of an explosion of wood.

Ruby checked her stopwatch: 2 minutes and 6 seconds.  It took her 2 minutes and six seconds to destroy every target.  She made a careful examination of herself, looking all over for blue ink; she found none.

 _Not bad,_ she thought.  Looking down at the watch once more, she amended her thought.   _Not bad, but not good enough._

Ruby looked around at the mess and sighed.  It would take her a while to get this mess cleaned up and the next set of targets set up, and she only had one more set of mannequins.  Building another five dozen would take days on her own, and she would be on her own.  Dad couldn't help her,  and even if he could, he wouldn't.  Uncle Qrow wouldn't help either, and Yang would sooner beat the tar out of her than help her train for the Tournament. 

She was all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2 minutes and 6 seconds is approximately how long Ruby’s fight in the “Red” trailer lasted.


	2. White Prologue—Mirror Images

Weiss Schnee, second-born of the Schnee family, stood with her family's hereditary sword, _Myrtenaster,_ in her hand.  Before her, stood a massive mechanical foe.  Constructed to look like a suit of armor, it was an impressive sight, a metal giant built of plates and spikes.  Her foe was easily three times her own size and carried a proportionate broadsword that looked like it could fell the largest of trees in one stroke.

The armored mech raised its weapon in both hands and charged at her.  Weiss dodged to the side, dancing around the ungraceful brute.  The mech's stride was impressive and so was its reach, but it was ungraceful in its movements, lacking any real strategy.  Its sword slammed into the ground where she had been, and the dumb thing looked around for its target. 

Weiss went on the offensive.  Conjuring a glyph under her feet, she propelled herself forward with a slight burst of energy.  Her sword bit deep into the back of the thing's knee.  The behemoth stumbled; the limb was damaged, but not severed.  Weiss wretched her sword free and was about to attack again when a huge, glowing red glyph appeared behind the giant and exploded.  

Weiss flew back, conjuring a glyph to cushion her fall.  The armor crashed beside her, covered in flames.  “Weiss?” a male voice asked.  “What were you thinking?  Stay out of my way.”

 _Whitely_ , she thought.  SHE should have been asking what HE was thinking.  Her younger brother was much like the mech—more interested in swinging his power around like a hammer than dueling.  Except Whitely, unlike the armor, didn’t carry a sword.  At least, their father would admit that she was more worthy of _Myrtenaster_ than he.

Speaking of the armor, the mech was returning to its feet; Whitely’s fire blast had hit it in its armored breastplate rather than anywhere it could do actual damage.  Her would-be partner had probably done more damage to her with that little stunt.

Thus thinking, Weiss rolled to the side, trying to move away from the mech’s immediate reach.  Thankfully, its very basic, very reactionary programing was more interested in punishing Whitely for his foolishness than finishing her off.  The hulking mech stomped towards Whitely, who ran away, firing his gun at the enemy.  It appeared he wasn't bothering to aim, given how often he was pulling the trigger.

Weiss’ theory was confirmed as she felt a wave of heat as a fireball flew over her head, missing the mech by a wide angle. 

”Weiss!” he screamed.  “What are you waiting for?  Help me!”

Weiss got to her feet.  She was bleeding above her left eye.  Hopefully, she wouldn’t have another scar.  Regardless, she used her Aura to keep the blood out of her eye.  

Focusing, she rotated Myrtenaster’s cylinder.  Selecting the proper chamber, she channeled her aura into the blade, causing the curving, ivy-like marks to light up.  Weiss charged forward once again, and once again, she sank the blade into the mech’s already damaged leg.  She sank her blade in as deep as it would go, then released the energy bound within.  Electricity flowed from the Lightning Dust in the Chamber down the blade and into the mech’s inner workings.

The limb sparked and shook, and collapsed under the weight of the armored giant.  The mech was kneeling now, trying to straighten itself up.  As it did so, Weiss conjured another Gluph around the head, holding it in place.  

“The face!” she cried. “Shoot the face!”

Whitely raised his gun.  Apparently too exhausted or scared to argue with her, he conjured a Glyph in front of the barrel, and fired.  Rather than fire, this time a ball of lighting shot through the power-enhancing Glyph.  The resulting giant crackling orb of electricity slammed into the exposed “face” of the mech’s head section.

The blast blew a whole in the front of the mech, reducing the “face” to a crater. The remains of the head hung like a man with a broken neck.

Whitely was doubled over, panting.  He had a weak Aura to begin with, and he didn’t believe in conserving his strength.  His fighting philosophy seemed to be, _If I hit my enemy as hard as I can, the fight is over, and I don’t need to conserve my strength._  It was why she had been given _Myrtenaster_ instead of him.

Weiss was shakey, but still on her feet.  She wiped the blood from her face, using her Aura to seal the wound until she could receive proper medical attention.

”That was disappointing.”  

Both Schnee offspring straightened up as best they could as the speaker approached them.  It was their father, Jacques Schnee, patriarch of the House of Schnee.  “Whitely, what made you consider even for a moment shooting the armor of your enemy?  And then to run away from it like a frightened child?”  Jacques shook his head, clearly disgusted with his heir's failure.  “That was a waste of dust and energy.  A Schnee should never resort to such tactics!”

"Yes, Father," Whitely mumbled, his eyes falling rather than meeting Jacques'.

”And you, Weiss,” he said, turning to his daughter.  Examining her bloody and bruised face, he could only say, “You must learn to stop running off on your own and coordinate your attack with your brother.  Because of your impetuousness, you were injured worse than your enemy, and that cost you time you could have spent supporting your brother in his efforts!”

Weiss dug her nails into her hand, but only nodded in acquiescence.  She knew her place in her father’s plans: to compensate for her brother’s weaknesses so that he could ascend to the Throne of Anima.  And then to bare the inbred heir to the throne.  "Yes, Father," she recited.  Her voice was hard, but respectful enough for her parent since he didn't call her on it.

”And neither of you has mastered Summoning!” Jacque went on.  "A skill Winter mastered when she was 12!  I'd have expected at least such competence from my son!"  Once more shaking his head, her turned and began walking away.  “You have four hours to rest.  Then you will do this again, and this time, I expect you both to fight like proper Schnees!”

"Yes, Father," the siblings said again.  The automatic door slid shut; it wasn't clear if he'd heard them.

Weiss watched him walk off, leaving her alone with her brother.  Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title “Mirror Images” is both a reference to Weiss’ song and to how Weiss and Whitely are so similar yet so opposite from one another. Hopefully, I'll get to explore this concept further as the story goes on.
> 
> Yes, Jacques-y boy wants to make his children marry EACH OTHER and procreate together. It’s supposed to be creepy; he’s a bad guy and an ego-maniac.


	3. Black Prologue—Beauty of the Beast

“Blake, you have to rest!”

Blake looked up at her friend.  The Cat Faunus had been sitting on a crate, pressing an ice pack against her bruised shoulder.  The speaker was her oldest friend, Ilia, a Chameleon Faunus.  The two women were conversing in a dilapidated warehouse they and their friends were using as a base.

The brown-haired, speckle-skinned young woman looked down at her with concern.  “Blake, you’re exhausted!” she  insisted.  “You can’t keep pushing yourself like this!”

Blake shook her head.  “I have to, Ilia.”  Reapplying the ice pack, she continued.  “Adam and I both have to get stronger—“

”He’s beating the tar out of you!” Ilia snapped.  “Adam’s treating you like a punching bag, not a partner!”

”He has to!” Blake snapped back.  “We have to push ourselves to the limit or we’ll never get strong enough, or we’ll lose.”

At the mention of the “L” word, Ilia recoiled.  She dropped her eyes and whispered.  “So why don’t you just give up?  Just ask him to withdraw.  You don’t have to risk this.”

”I can’t ask him to drop out!” Blake said, shocked that her friend would even suggest such an idea.  “Ilia, you know how big a deal this is for us!  If we win, we could change things; everything we’ve been fighting for could become a reality in the blink of an eye.  Every discriminating law could be erased.  Every hate crime could be avenged.  Adam won’t walk away from that—“

 “So tell him to get someone else!” Ilia cried.  She got down on her knees and took Blake’s free hand in her own.  “Someone else can be his sacrifice.  Anyone else—”

”No!” Blake said.  Withdrawing her hand from Ilia, she stood up and flared down at her friend.  “I’m the strongest woman here.  More importantly, I won’t ask anyone else to put her freedom on the line for this.  I know the risks, and I’m willing to take them for the cause.”

”But,” Ilia said, getting to her feet.  “. . . Do you really think you can win? Can you and Adam defeat EVERYONE?”

Blake smirked.  Reaching our with her free hand (and wincing slightly, because the bruise wasn’t completely numb), she gripped her friend’s shoulder. “Do you think we’re planning to fight fair?  Cheating has always been a part of the Festival, no matter how much people go on about honor and merit.  Adam and I will do everything we can to skew the odds in our favor, I promise.”  Squeezing Ilia’s shoulder, Blake smiled.  “We’re going to win.”

 Ilia nodded, not quite mollified.  Blake didn’t blame her.  Despite all her bravado, she knew the odds were long, and the risks were high, but how could she not take them when a better world for all Faunus was on the line?  No, she and Adam had to win, they just had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. Short but sweet. Sorry it could t be longer, but I think y’all got a pretty good idea of what’s going on. Blake’s right about one thing: cheating is a time-honored element of the Vytal Festival; we’ll be seeing how that plays out later on.


	4. Yellow Trailer—Burning Bright

Yang sped down the street.  The _hum_ of her bike’s motor and the _whir_  of tires a pleasant white noise punctuated by the sounds of other vehicles.  She enjoyed the noise, enjoyed the fact that the noise and the dangerous speeds made it impossible for her to think.  

Specifically, it made it impossible to think about Ruby.  Her sister.  The single most important person in her world.  The person she was willing to risk everything—literally everything—for.  And now, the person she might be about to lose forever.

A street light switched to yellow, and Yang slowed to stop at the light.  She might have run the red in the middle of the afternoon, but at night, with next to no one else on the road, some cop might just decide to go to the effort of pulling her over.  If the cop was male (and he almost certainly was), he’d probably take the opportunity to feel her up while he was writing her ticket.  That had happened enough times in years past to teach her that simply wasn’t worth the trouble.  

The light turned green, and she sped up again.  She drove until she came to a club.  The windows flashed an aurora of colors, while bass and techno music filtered out of the walls.  There was a line of hopeful young (and youngish) people standing outside, waiting to get in, but Yang breezed last all of them.  The bouncer didn’t bat an eye, though he did cop a feel of her ass as she walked by.  Yang’s frown increased, but she didn’t do anything.   _Not yet,_ she thought, _save it._

Yang walked up to the bar.  The man at behind it knew who she was, having spoken to her many times before.  Still, he did obey one of the rules of formality.  “What’ll it be?”

Yang rolled her eyes.  This guy knew exactly why she was here.  Even if she hadn’t been a regular, how many teenaged women walked into a place like this after dark alone?  Every few women (other than the staff dressed in clothes that were as scanty as was legally allowed) was accompanied either by boyfriends or by a veritable pack of female friends.  

“A pint of ale and a pint of blood,” she recited.  “And a strawberry sunrise while your at it,” she said, throwing some lien down on the counter.

The bar man blinked but nodded and fixed her drink.  Yang took it and walked into the back of the club.  She ignored the dance floor and the men's eyes fixed on her figure and went into the elevator in the corner.  She didn’t press any of the buttons, just sipped her drink; the man at the bar would hit the necessary switch or whatever to send her down.  When she felt the metal box begin to move, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a crude mask that she tied around her head (holding the glass in her teeth).

 The doors opened and revealed another club.  A very different one.  Gone were the flashing lights, replaced by simple spotlights that hung from the ceiling.  They illuminated only the center of the room:  the great circular opening ringed with handrails.  Down that pit was a plain, cement floor.  The techno music didn't sound down here; he only noise was the gossip of "polite and cultured" persons.  In the shadows around the pit, the patrons milled about in masks and elegant suits and dresses, drinking from goblets and smoking.  Most of them ignored her, though a few cast suspicious glances at her.  Yang ignored them all.  Her attention was on the big, bearded man approaching her.  Bereft of a mask and a coat, he looked out of place amongst the crowd.  "Blondie," he said.

"Junior," she replied.  "Got an opening for me tonight?"

The big man nodded.  "Miltia and Melanie are itching for a rematch.  Get down; you're the opening act."

Yang nodded.  Downing the last of her drink, she tossed the glass to Junior, who caught it, cursing as some droplets splashed on his red tie.  By the time he looked up again, Yang had slipped through the crowd and was at the handrails around the arena.  Grabbing them, she hoisted herself up and over.  She landed on her feet with a satisfying _THUMP!_ Rising to her feet, she activated her weapons; the big, golden bracelets on her writs expanded into golden gauntlets that ran from her elbow to her fist and extended on into knuckle dusters.  Ember Celica also had built-in shotgun barrels, but Yang had left them unloaded.  To protect the patrons, no projectiles were allowed in the pit.  It was all hand-to-hand and melee combat.  

"Gentlemen and Ladies!" Junior's voice boomed throughout the room.  "Tonight, we open with a common favorite!  Tonight, the Yellow Dragon will face the steely twins:  Miltia and Melanie!"

Across from Yang, a door opened and two young women came out:  both pale-skinned, black-haired, and green-eyed with feathers in their hair.  One wore white and had elaborately bladed heels, and the other wore red and had bladed gauntlets.  Yang ignored the fact that the women's surname, Malachite, referred to copper rather than steel; Junior might be savvy enough to run the public club upstairs and the exclusive one down here, but that didn't mean he wasn't still pretty dumb.  She assumed a guarded stance, while the twins took up their own across from her.

"Ladies . . ." Junior intoned.  "FIGHT!"

 Yang charged forward.  The two women split and circled around; now the sisters were on opposite sides of the arena, and Yang was in the middle.  Yang didn’t hesitate.  She immediately moved to her left, attacking Miltia.  Yang slammed her fists into Miltia’s guard.  

 _Clang!  Clang!  Clang!  Clang!_  Metal clashed against metal as Yang’s knuckle dusters collided with Miltia’s blades.  The red-clad woman backed into the wall of the pit under Yang’s assault, the blonde trying to take her out of the fight as soon as possible.  

It wasn’t soon enough; Yang heard the _Tap!  Tap!  Tap!_ of Melanie’s heels as she raced to her sister’s aid.  Throwing one last punch for good measure, Yang dove to the side and rolled.  Sadly, she didn’t hear Melanie crash into Miltia.  On the up-side, it took a moment to slow to a stop after her charge, and that gave Yang the time she needed to get back on her feet.

The sisters moved as one, trying to to flank Yang.  Miltia was still too close to the wall, so she went after Melanie.  The white-dressed woman began kicking like crazy.  This time, Yang was on the defensive, blocking Melanie’s rapid-fire blows.  Miltia, meanwhile, tried to join her sister, but Yang dodged and weaved, forcing Melanie to follow her, blocking her twin. 

Unfortunately, Miltia's patience was not infinite.  Realizing that she couldn't take Yang head-on, she instead circled around and tried to attack Yang from behind.  The blonde shifted and tried to block both attacks at once with her gauntlets.  'Tried' being the operative word; Yang was no novice when it came to hand-to-hand combat, but she also wasn't the type of expert who could counter the high-speed attacks of two people on opposite sides at once.  She blocked a few, but it couldn't last. The twins blasted her repeatedly, like shots from an automatic weapon.

 _"Uhh  Uhh!  Uhh!  Uhh!"_ Yang grunted as she was knocked back and forth like a rag doll under the assault.  Her arms were becoming heavy.  Pretty soon she would drop them, and then, she would drop herself . . .

Or not!  Crying out in rage, Yang activated her Semblance.  Eyes shifting to red, she released a huge burst of enhanced-aura, blowing the twins away. Melanie tripped over her own blades heels, and became Yang’s new punching bag.  As soon as the dazed woman had cleared her head of the blast of aura, the super-strong blonde had started hammering her.  In the span of a few seconds, Yang had reduced her pale skin to a mess of blacks and blues. 

"Melanie!" Miltia cried out.  She raced to join her sister, but Yang wasn't done yet.  The red-eyed brawler turned on her, and Miltia immediately raised her hands to block.  It did nothing; with one punch Yang sent her flying back into the opposite wall.  She hit it with a grunt, then fell—limp—to the ground. 

"The winner: the Yellow Dragon!" Junior announced.

Yang stood still, panting as her eyes shifted back to lavender and her aura diminished.  Above her, the suits politely clapped in approval.  Yang snorted in disgust.  All those people pretending to be so high class while watching women beat the snot out of each other.  Sick jerks.  No doubt they'd enjoy the Festival more than anyone else.

* * *

 “Here you are, Blondie,” Junior said. “All 200.”  He handed over a half-dozen lien cards to the teenager.  “You know . . .” He started.

”Wait!  Let me guess!” Yang interrupted.  “I could make even more if I came to work for you.  Forget it, Junior.  I’m not going to work for you, and I’m not going to sleep with you, either. Just quit bothering me.”

Junior frowned.  He knew he couldn’t take the woman in a fight.  It galled him, but he knew she was stronger than him—for now.  Melanie and Miltia might always lose to Yang, but they always learned something new from the experience, and so did he.  He knew she was planning to fight in the Tournament, and he’d be ready for her.  By this time next year, she’d be working for him and sleeping with him.

 _Oh, yes,_ he thought as he watched her walk back to the elevator, specifically watched her ass.  She’d definitely be sleeping with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, on that creepy and threatening not, the trailers come to an end. On to the main story!
> 
> The line "A pint of ale and a pint of blood" comes from the story "Sekirei: Guardian of the North" by Shadows of Vanity on Fanfiction.net. It's a good story, check it out. In fact, all their stuff is good. Some of it is cross-posted here, but not all. Be warned though, they update at an almost geologic pace. Up-side is that means that when they do update, it's pretty long, really well-written, and enjoyable.


	5. The Last Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, quick announcement! I know I said that the Vytal Festival was to become King of the World, right? Well, that turned out to be too big an idea to wrap my head around, so I'm down-sizing it. The Festival is about choosing the next Emperor of one nation, albeit one that thinks it's destined to rule the world (I swear I was not trying to reference the Third Reicht with this; they're not Nazis, just arrogant and patriarchal—Hitler hardly had a monopoly on that). There are other nations in this world in addition to the Empire of Vale, and we're going to see them at some point, but for now, our focus will be on the folks trying to take over the largest and most powerful nation on Remnant.
> 
> Also, I can't believe I failed to mention this earlier, but imagine all the academy-age characters aged up to where they are post-Volume 3 (Am I the only one who thinks that the cast looks years older instead of months?). The Festival is messed up, but they're not sending underaged children into a life of sexual slavery. Vale does have SOME standards.

The opening ceremonies to the Vytal Festival were a matter of much pomp and circumstance.  It had always been so, even when the Empire of Vale was young, and after twelve hundred years it hadn't gotten any more modest.  They took place in the amphitheater in which the matches were to be held.  It was an enormous structure, designed to hold thousands of spectators, with modern cameras to allow thousands more (both in the Empire and outside it) would watch on their screens at home.  While the duels themselves were still a week away, the stadium was jam-packed with citizens and visitors come to watch the ritual.  In the ring, where the battles would take place in near future, musicians played folk songs, acrobats performed feats of agility, and actors staged dramatic re-enactments of famous battles from history and folklore.   Then, after hours of such patriotic carousing, the contestants appeared.  They marched into the stadium, one team at a time as they were announced.  After each one had taken their place to the cheers of the crowd, silence fell on the stadium, and the national anthem was sung.  The camera crew were quick to focus on the contenders, panning over the young warriors who would soon battle for the greatest prize in the world: the monarchy of the strongest nation on Remnant!  The Empire which would one day rule the whole world! 

Then, after the last note faded, from behind a curtain in her private box, _she_ appeared. 

"Welcome, one and all, to the 55th Vytal Festival!”  The announcer was none other than the regent herself, Glynda.  The regal woman, widow of the previous Emperor and regent until the next monarch was chosen, stood proud and tall before her throne.  She was dressed in a mixture of morning and majesty.  The Consort’s Crown rested her brow, her yellow hair tied in a tight bun.    It was not as elaborate as the one her husband had worn, but it gleamed like a star on her head.

The assembled crowd cheered.  They cheered with the kind of enthusiasm that only comes when more than a thousand years of Imperial tradition is on display.  Below them, in the center of the stadium, stood the contested, arranged in near rows.  Some—like the Schnees—were dressed in their absolute finest clothes and jewelry.  Others—like Yang and Ruby—were dressed in the same clothes they would wear in the matches.  Some wore both, as was the case with Blake, Adam, and Ilia, and all the other White Fang members.  One thing they all had in common, however, was that they all carried weapons.

One of the assembled contestants was looking up at the former consort (was she former?  Or was she still consort until the Festival ended?) with a frown. Ruby couldn't help but wonder how it was the other woman was was able to justify her part in this crime against humanity—and Faunus.  She was announcing the beginnings of a tournament that would end with dozens, maybe hundreds of women turned into sex slaves.  She had almost been in that position herself once?  Had she forgotten?  Or was her opinion skewed from being on the winning team?

The widow consort continued.  "To ensure all participants—and their future subjects—know and understand the rules of the Festival, I will now give a brief overview.  Firstly, as you know, all male contestants must register a female partner as their sacrifice.  As a reward for their foremothers' service in the conquest of Atlas, women are permitted to enter alone, as their own sacrifices.  After each match, the winner shall claim his—or her—opponent’s sacrifice as his hetaera.  These women will spend the rest of their lives as their masters' servants, lovers, and allies.  I say allies, because, as the rounds progress, the defeated sacrifices will join their masters and mistresses in battle.  However, should any woman who entered as her own sacrifice be defeated, all the hetaerae she has claimed throughout the Festival shall join her as her master's property.  The winner of the Festival shall be named Emperor of Vale, and his sacrifice shall wed him and become his consort."

Glynda paused for a moment, letting what she'd said sink in.  Unsurprisingly, there was a rumble of excitement amongst the crowd, and even some of the would-be contestants were looking interested.  Suddenly, lone female contestants had become much more interesting.  Raising her hand to ask for silence, she resumed her speech.  

“This has been our tradition for more than a thousand years, since before the founding of the Empire itself.  It allows our greatest warriors to spread their seed amongst our populace, ensuring our strength as a people.  More importantly, the Vital Festival guarantees that our ruler is the greatest fighter and tactician of his age.  While other nations choose their leaders based on old, inbred lineages or compete in contests of wealth and charisma, our people have always been governed by the truly worthy."

In the audience, Weiss and Blake—two women who, if they met, would swear they had nothing in common—shared a the same exact thought: What a crock.  Maybe, back in the dim and distant days when the land that would become Vale had no empire, only a collection of illiterate tribes and warring clans, that reasoning might have been true.  Following whomever could swing a sword the hardest or chuck a spear the farthest was as effective a way as any to pick a leader in those days.  By the time the first real Festival was held, however, technology and society had come far enough that people could be devious.  Anyone who believed this tournament was conducted with honor was an idiot. 

As for the bit about bloodlines, the Schnee siblings were not the first pair of close relatives to enter the Festival.

"Given the stakes being played for," the consort continued, "there remains a grace period in which any contestant may drop form the Festival.  This period ends for each contestant when their first match begins.  The matches will be arranged at random, however, the identities of the competitors will not be announced until 24 hours before the match begins.  This is to test the candidates’ ability to strategize under duress.”  It was true; contestants would have to train and strategize with only limited information on whom they would be facing, and when they did learn which team would be facing which, there would only be a few hours to prepare for that specific match-up.  Even then, certain _details_ of the match would be kept secret until the duel began.  Also, as a side benefit, the spectators would have some ability to arrange their schedules for matches they wanted to see.  “During the first round, none of the candidates’ skills have been demonstrated, and so these rules will be suspended.  Instead, the identities of the duelists will remain undisclosed until the match begins.”  Once more, the crowd rumbled in anticipation.  The consort looked down at the contestants.  "The first match begins one week from today at noon sharp!  I expect you all to be there.  Remember, failure to appear for your match at the appointed time will result in an automatic forfeit!"

Yang frowned at the news.  Great.  She didn't know how long she had to convince Ruby to end this nonsense.  She had no way of knowing which match her sister would compete in or who she'd be fighting.  One thing was for sure, though, Yang thought as she scanned the assembly, only one or two other women looked like they were soloing the Festival.  That meant that her little sis was guaranteed to be fighting alone.  Yang's hand clenched.  Unless she could convince her to just drop out . . .

* * *

After the opening ceremonies finished late in the evening, the contestants went about a variety of activities.  Some partied, indulging in drinks, drugs, and sexual escapades.  Others threw themselves headlong back into their training, determined to use whatever time they had left to continue preparing for the first round. Weiss and Whitely were instructed to meet their father in his study.  He didn't say why; he didn't need to.  It was not there place to know, only to obey.

The study wasn’t a room Weiss had ever felt comfortable in.  At the end of a hall lined with the portraits of her ancestors, their countenances stern as though they were judging her from beyond the grave, no one ever entered it without Jacques Schnee's permission.  Well, permission might have been the wrong word.  Jacques summoned people to his study.  Unless they were business partners, it never ended well for the summoned.  Even then, half the partners wished they had never set foot within Jacques Schnee's private sanctuary.

The inside of the room itself was cold and empty.  Oh, it had furniture: a desk, computer, windows with drapes, and other such necessities, but it was all plain and functional.  The walls were a dull gray that seemed designed to be as soul-crushingly bland as possible.  Even the light coming in from the windows seemed cold, although that might have just been because the room was kept at 60 degrees all day, every day.  There was only one item in the whole study that could qualify as decorative or sentimental:  an enormous portrait of Jacques Schnee himself hanging behind the desk.

The siblings stood in front of the desk at attention, as though they were soldiers reporting to their commanding officer.  They didn't speak; it was not their place.

"You will be fighting in the first match," Jacques stated, without preamble.  "As such, your duel will set the tone for the rest of the Festival.  This is not only "  He looked down at his son, then turned and looked for the first time at Weiss.  "I do not need to tell you to make a good impression."

"Yes, father," Weiss said, crisply.

"Of course, father," Whitely said, suck-up.  "I will not fail you."

"It would be an impressive feat if you did, given the circumstances," Jacques remarked.  "I made arrangements.  You will facing the youngest competitor in the Festival—the youngest in several generations, in fact.  What's more, your opponent is her own sacrifice."

Weiss suppressed a sigh.  One thing was for certain: the first round would indeed be a glimpse into the rest of the Festival.  Specifically, her father would use his wealth and authority to ensure her and Whitely's victory.  For now, he was arranging an easy win; she didn't doubt that later he would begin sabotaging enemy teams or pulling any other under-handed tactics he thought necessary for victory.  There was no question in her mind that these tactics would ensure that Whitely wore the Emperor's Crown, but to what end?  Where was the honor in this?  The House of Schnee had existed since the Kingdom of Mantle, before the civil war turned it into Atlas and then the Valish Empire overcame them.  There were so many distinguished names in the annals of military history who hailed from their family.  What would _they_ think of this?  Was it a brilliant strategy or dirty money?

Whitely, on the other hand, was grinning.  "Thank you, Father!  We will make short work of this _girl."_

"Yes, well, to make sure of that, study this."  Jacques pushed a folder to them.  "It contains the schematics of the weapon she submitted upon registration, a combination scythe and sniper rifle.  An over-designed, flashy mess of a weapon, but it is capable of damaging a careless opponent."  These last words were spoken with a hint of threat, making the siblings shiver just a little under their parent's even colder gaze.  Jacques paused for a moment to let the thought sink in, then continued.  "The file also contains her proctor's notes from her qualifying session as well as footage from the same session.  Medical readouts are there as well, though you're unlikely to find anything of value in there."

"Thank you, Father," Whitely said as he took the folder.  "We will study it thoroughly."

"See that you do," Jacques said, his gaze turning to his computer screen.  "Now go.  I have work to do."

The siblings silently nodded.  Once more, it was not their place to speak.  They simply turned and walked out of the office and back down the hall.  As always, they remained silent until they turned the corner.  Weiss could never remember making this agreement with her brother; it was just a habit they'd both carried for as long as they could remember. 

To her surprise, Whitely opened the folder and began flipping through the papers inside.  For a minute, Weiss felt genuine hope; maybe she wouldn't be expected to carry her brother through the entirety of the tournament after all. 

Her hope faded when she saw the look on his face, however, and died as soon as he opened his mouth.  "Wow, she's cute.  Nice figure.  Silver eyes?  I've never seen that before, but pretty.  That hair's natural—no way.  Only a B Cup.  Shame, but she's still growing . . ."  Whitely looked up and saw the frown on her face.  Despite her training, Weiss hadn't completely mastered the skill of controlling all facial expressions.  Her brother sneered at her.  "What, am I not allowed to admire my future property?  You may as well take a look yourself, Weiss.  Technically, since you're my partner, she'll be yours as well when all is said and done . . ."  He lifted a paper from the dossier, one with a photograph clipped to it.  The smug bastard started waving it with its back to her, as though daring her to ask for it.

Weiss struggled to keep her eyes from fixating on the back of the photo, from imagining what it looked like.  Having undergone the qualifying process herself, she knew what it was.  While the rules of the Festival technically said that any citizen of the Empire could compete, the days when it was feasible to let anyone just walk up to the capital and compete in a reasonably brief and organized tournament were long gone.  Even before the conquest and subsequent annexation of Atlas, the Empire had enjoyed a high population.  After the war, and with women allowed to enter without partners, the number of would-be contestants had almost doubled since the last Festival.  With the population of the Empire so high, the Festival organizers could afford to be choosy about who they did or didn't let into the competition.   This had led to the government passing a law requiring a thorough qualifying examination prior to being admitted into the Festival.  In addition to proving physical and mental fitness for the Festival, all participants had to submit to a medical exam.  It was fairly rigorous, not only screening for diseases, but also checking the candidates' fertility.  Since the whole barbaric point of the Festival was supposedly to ensure that the strongest men in the Empire spread their genes around, it only made sense that participants were capable of reproducing.  Taking down the female contestants' measurements was a natural step, though that didn't make it any less perverted.

Her brother's offer was, honestly, tempting.  As Whitely himself had pointed out, one of the few hopeful prospects her future held for her was that—as her brother's partner and eventual consort—Weiss would be able to occasionally enjoy his concubines; they would have to obey her as well, although she would always be second-in-command to her brother.  It was a small comfort, but at least she wouldn't be dependent on incest for pleasure.  And, to be perfectly blunt, the woman—no, _girl_ he was describing did sound intriguing.

She probably intrigued Weiss more than she did Whitely, the scarred woman thought.  Given Weiss' own . . . physical shortcomings, she didn't particularly mind the thought of a partner with a small bust . . .

Still, as tempting as it was to exam the photo and read the attributes of their first victim, now was not the time for such distractions.  "We have more important things to do that fantasize about our first slave.  You heard Father; we need to make a good impression, and that means winning this battle as efficiently as possible."

Whitely rolled his eyes, but put the sheet back in the folder.  "Fine, sister," he said, handing the dossier to her.  "If you're so determined to concoct some grand strategy to defeat a lone child, who am I to stop you?"

Weiss took the folder without comment.  As she suspected, her brother's coronation would be won by her efforts.  She opened the file as they continued walking and—because Whitely had put the page he'd held up on top of the others—got her first look at her coming opponent.  She was cute.  Young, the girl in question was grinning broadly, throwing a "V for Victory" sign at the camera.  Weiss felt a pang in her heart.  What would her ancestors think of her?  So many men and women of the Schnee family had died protecting Atlas/Mantle's borders.  Brave and honorable souls, all of them.  And here she was, the first generation since their nation had been absorbed into the Empire, engaging in a Festival the free nations of the world had always condemned.

She had no choice, of course.  Atlas was a part of the Empire now; her father owned her, not that she would've had a measurably greater degree of freedom before the war.  All the nations gave preference to men over women.  Vale was just the worst offender.  At least as consort to the Emperor (and that thought and what it entailed still made her sick) she would have some control over her own life, even if for the first forty or more years of their reign brother and sister remained their father's puppets.  At least, in winning the Festival, she would ensure that Atlas was again ruled by an Atlesian.  That was a worthwhile endeavor, wasn't it?

Weiss looked again at the photograph, at the innocent face smiling back at her.  Did this poor girl even realize what she was signing up for?

* * *

"Ruby, just drop out!" Yang hissed.

Her sister ignored her, tweaking with her weapon on the work bench.  The gears were starting to stick and applying lubricant to the tiny clockwork parts was much more engaging than rehashing this argument for the millionth time.

Yang took a deep breath and let it out with a hiss.  The force of the air pressure felt good against her lips, gave her something else to think about.  "Ruby," she tried again, adopting a much calmer tone this time.  "You have the money.  Between your gratuity and mine, you'll have a good start.  You can get a job as a mechanic—I know it'll be tough, but with brains like yours, there's bound to be at least one guy who'll take you on.  And even if they won't, you can work with Uncle Qrow.  I'm sure he'd love a partner on his hunts."  Her sister kept working in silence.  "Damn it, Ruby!" Yang snapped, grabbing her sister and spinning her around to face her.  "Are you even listening to me?"

"I am," Ruby said.  "You forgot that if I drop out of the Festival, I have to refund the gratuity, right?"

Yang took another deep, slow breath.  The gratuity, often called the "bride price," was the sum given to the families of sacrifices as "compensation" for the loss of their daughters' financial and/or domestic support.  That was the story they told everyone, at any rate.  Most folks figured the practice was a way to make competing in the Festival more enticing, particularly to families or individuals who were struggling financially.

When Yang had finished calming down, as much as she could, she spoke again.  Her voice was clipped, as though she were on the verge of exploding again.  "Oh, well.  That's too bad.  Then give it back.  You'll still have my gratuity.  And, I'll give you the money I win."

"You're supposed to use that money to support yourself, and your concubines," Ruby said, spinning around. 

"I won't need it for long," Yang answered flatly.

 "You mean you're planning on losing," Ruby said.  Her sister didn't respond.  "I don't."

"Ruby . . . you . . . you actually think you can win?" Yang choked out.

"I have to," Ruby said, her voice dipping low as she began reassembling her weapon.  "I have to win, because no one else will end this horrible mess."

Yang blinked, her mouth opening and closing in a good imitation of a fish.  Finally, she forced out a quiet whisper.  "Yeah, you've said that.  Ruby . . . They'll never let you.  Even if you win, they won't let you.  You heard the consort; the Festival's been a part of Vale's history for as long as anyone can remember.  Do you, can anyone stop something like that?"

Ruby shrugged.  "Maybe not, but I'll never have a better shot than as the empress."

"Do you think this is what Dad would have wanted for you?  Or Mom?  For you to throw your life away?" Yang asked.  This was a low blow, but she was desperate.  Her sister had always looked up to their parents; there was no way Ruby could resist an appeal to their memory.

Boy, was she wrong.  "That's rich, Yang."  Ruby set down her tools and swiveled around to glare at her.  "You're the one who's throwing her life away, because you don't even think you can win."

"Errrrrrr-uh!"  Yang threw up her hands and stomped off, eyes glowing red.  Damn it!  She still had another week to figure out how to convince Ruby to abandon this insane idea.  She just had to figure out how, dammit!

Ruby shook her head, watching her sister stomp off to go hit something.  Sighing, she turned back around and finished reassembling her weapon. 

* * *

”Are you sure about this?” Blake asked.  

Ilia nodded.  “I am.  I can’t let you take this burden alone, Blake.”

Blake sighed and shook her head.  "You don't even have a partner," she argued.  "I at least have Adam."

The Chameleon Faunus snorted.  "You mean the guy who's beating you black and blue?"

Blake frowned.  "We're preparing for the most dangerous and competitive contest in the world.  If you're afraid of getting hurt, you should forfeit now, because your opponents won't go easy on you, especially since your a Faunus."

"And yours will have an easier time fighting you if you go into your matches covered in bruises," Ilia countered.

The Cat Faunus just snorted in reply.  "If that's the biggest disadvantage I have, then it'll be a relief.  Don't forget, Ilia, the majority of the contestants will be humans.  Some of them are pretty rich.  They'll have access to better weapons better qualities (not to mention better quantities) of Dust, and some of them have probably been professionally trained by the military.  We're so far behind the curve, it's almost a joke."

Ilia, however, was not laughing.  She sat down on one of the boxes.  "Then, why are you even trying?  You must have some plan or something or else you wouldn't even be trying.  I know you, Blake.  You're dedicated, but you're not suicidal."

At her friend's words, a sly smile appeared on the Cat Faunus' face.  "You do know me well.  And, you're right.  Adam is off bribing one of the officials to find out who we're going to be fighting and when."

 Her friend frowned.  "That'll help you in the later rounds, but no one's fought yet.  Knowing who you're going to fight won't help you."

"That's true," Blake said.  "Except for one thing.  When the round occurs, it won't be our first fight with our opponent."

That brought Ilia up short.  "You mean, you're planning to attack them before match?"

"It does take cheating to a new level," Blake noted.  "And, it does feel a little cruel, but, it's our best bet.  As soon as we know who we're going to fight, we'll attack them the night before.  That way, they'll be at a disadvantage when the fight happens."

"The same disadvantage you'll be at?" Ilia asked, poking a bruise on Blake's arm.

Her friend hissed in response and backed away.  "Adam is more careful than you give him credit for," Blake insisted.  "I promise, he won't hurt me nearly as badly as we'll hurt our opponents."

Ilia's face didn't convey great trust in her friend's words, but all she said was.  "Well, I suppose if you end up fighting me, I'll just forfeit the match and join your team."

Blake smirked and opened her mouth to reply, but she was cut off.  "Smart girl.  We should discuss this with the other teams; there's no reason to waste Dust fighting each other."

The two women turned around to see the man walking into the room.  "Adam!" Blake said with a smile.  "You're back."

The redheaded Bull Faunus man grunted in reply as he approached the pair.  He stopped short.  "Are you ready for a spar, Blake?"

Ilia frowned.  "She's still recovering," she protested. 

"That won't stop our opponents," Adam snapped.

"He's right," Blake said, getting up.  Picking up Gambol Shroud, she took a fighting stance.  To her credit, she only flinched a little. To cover, she asked Adam, "Did you find out who we're fighting first?"

Adam's exposed mouth frowned.  His eyes were covered by a black blindfold, so she couldn't see them.  "No," he answered.  "We aren't in the first match, but they haven't paired us up yet.  I'll try again later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this will provide some more insight into the Festival and its rules. Some of y’all asked me for that info, and here it is. Also, a little more of the history of this world. In case it was unclear, Atlas was conquered by Vale a generation ago, thus making it a true empire.
> 
> I was unsure about using Glynda in this story, but now I have ideas about what role she can take in the story, eventually.
> 
> Next chapter, the start of around I: Ruby vs. Weiss and Whitely.


	6. The Battle Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of my favorite minor characters make an appearance in this chapter. If you're annoyed at how they're portrayed . . . hold off judgement. They may surprise you later . . .

The huge doors openned, Weiss and her brother blinked in the light.  The hallway they’d been standing in has been well-lit, but it was nothing compared to the open Sun.  The pair lost no time, however, and walked forward.

”Introducing Whitely Schnee and his sacrifice—his sister, Weiss!”  

The white-haired pair walked out into the arena. Despite the thunderous applaus that greeted them, the pair remained poised and aloof.  They were of the most distinguished family in Atlas, and dignity was a part of their genetic makeup.  Well, in Weiss’ case it was. Whitely had deigned to raise his hand and gently wave to the crowd, soaking up their adoration.  He may not have had their father’s intelligence, but the two men we’re equally vain.

Letting his mask slip for a moment, he hissed at her.  ”Weiss, what were you doing?  You’re supposed to stay a step behind me!”

Weiss refused to answer.  She knew the traditions of the Festival, and yes, that included the male walking in front of the female(s).  But she would be carrying this team, and she refused to pretend otherwise, at least in this first match.  Thankfully, the announcers made enough noise that her lack of response would go unnoticed.

”It’s only the first match, and already we’re seeing the very first team from the newly annexed territory of Atlas!” One of the announcers—a green-haired man named Oobleck—declared.

”Indeed!” the other announcer agreed.  This was an overweight, older man with a prominent mustache.  His name was Port.  “And what a first team! Master Schnee is considered a favorite to win the Festival.”

”Agreed,” Oobleck said.  “The Schnee family has a long, distinguished history in the Atlesian/Mantle military.  In fact, the siblings here have a sister who served in the war!”

”And, Master Schnee is also heir to the Schnee Dust Company,” Port added.  “One of the richest businesses in the Empire!”

Below, Weiss felt her knuckles whiten.  Their family’s company _was_ the richest in the Empire—before taxes.  After conquering Atlas, the Valites had wasted no time in not only co-opting but redesigning the nation’s tax system.  Income taxes had sky-rocketed, siphoning wealth out of Atlas and its businesses and into the Imperial Treasury, like some kind of economic vampire.  As for her sister . . . Weiss would find out what happened to her, one way or another.

”And with the resources of the SDC behind them, it’s no wonder the odds of victory are in their favor!” Oobleck added.

”The same can’t be said for their opponent,” Port noted.  “And on that note . . . !”

The doors on the opposite side of the arena opened.  A solitary figure walked out, dressed in scarlet, sable, and silver, and holding an enourmous scythe.

”Introducing Ruby Rose, our first solo contestant!”

”Unlike the Schnee siblings, Miss Rose has no claim to any militaristic or economic lineage worth mentioning,” Oobleck noted.

”And without a man to support her, I would suggest she start stretching her legs,” Port noted.

Ruby frowned at the older MC’s comment. The croad enjoyed it, though.  It was obvious she was _not_  a favorite to win the Festival.  From the moment she’d stepped out into the arena, she’d been greeted with jeers and boos rather than the accolades the Schnees had received.  She was glad she couldn’t make them out.

“And now, it’s time to see what kind of field our contenders will be playing on!” Oobleck announced.  At his words, the monitors split into dual screens that rolled like incomplete slot machines.  Ruby’s ended first.  It was blank; her half of the arena would remain a flat path of concrete.  The Schnees, however, recieved a stone field.  The arena changed itself into rough, stoney ground littered with rocks of various sizes that could serve as hurdles or barriers.  

Weiss scowled before she could re-school her features.  Beside her, Whitely openly grinned, having come to the same conclusion as her. Their father had bribed the people in charge of the fields to make sure the pair of them were given the best possible environment to fight.  

“Bad luck for Miss Rose!” Port noted.

“Indeed!  She’s a sitting duck on that flat plane, whilst the Schnees have all the cover they could ask for!” Oobleck explained for the audience’s benefit.

”Looks like this will be a short match,” Port intoned, "But here is her Grace, the Lady Regent Glynda ready to get the festivities underway!”

Glynda Ozpin, ex-Consort of Emperor Ozpin, stood in her box.  Her face was a stern mask, not hidden by a mourning veil as other women might have worn.  Beside her was her son, Oscar, and a pair of guards whose faces _were_ hidden, thanks to the helmets they wore.  The woman raised her arm, holding a black riding crop.  As she did, both Ruby and Weiss felt a buzz and itch around their necks for a moment.  It came from the black ribbons infused with Spirit Dust that had been strapped around their necks prior to their entering the stadium.  Objects commonly referred to as “concubine collars.”  The sensation faded when the Lady Regent brought it down in a swift, harsh motion that ended with a sharp _crack!_

“BEGIN!”

Ruby wasted no time.  She flipped Cresent Rose around and fired behind her, the recoil acting like a rocket to launch her at the siblings.  

“Move!” Weiss shouted.  The two ducked behind some stones.  Ruby passed right through them, almost colliding with another rock.  Instead, however, she used it like a ramp, running up it and launching herself.  She did a front flip in the air and landed behind the rock before Whitely could shoot her in the back.  

That didn’t stop him from firing at the rock.  He sent three or four Lightning rounds at it; all of them exploded harmlessly against the stone.  Weiss frowned.  That was a waste of time and ammunition.  Unlike Whitely, their opponent had a powerful aura; she could probably start tanking Whitely’s shots if her patience ran out.  Thankfully, before that could happen, her brother demonstrated some intelligence and called out “Double Lightning!”

Weiss selected the Lightning option in Myrtenaster’s hilt, the conjured a Glyph in front of his gun.  Whitely fired, and a high-energy burst shot slammed into the rock, the combined power creating an electromagnetic cage that engulfed the rock.  Anything organic inside would’ve been caught in it and rendered paralyzed and well-cooked.

 Too bad they’d underestimated their opponent’s reflexes.  Ruby dashed out from behind the rock and hid behind the flash of the attack.  When Whitely’s eyes cleared, it was just in time to see Ruby right in front of him, swinging her scythe into his face.

”Ahh!” Whitely screamed.  He raised his pistol to block it, but the heavy blow from the scythe batted it aside.  One more swing, and Whitely went flying over the rocks and into the open half of the arena.  

Weiss cursed under her breath and darted out of her hiding spot to rescue her useless brother.  She charged Myrtenaster's blade, thrusting it forward with intent to . . . Well, not kill but keep the other woman from pursuing Whitely.  Ruby saw her and swung her scythe to block the blow.  The two women collided and fell into their own melee.  Weiss had the faster weapon and was mostly able to keep her on the defensive.  Despite her heavy weapon, however, Ruby was able to fight back, forcing Weiss to dodge blows she knew she couldn’t block or parry.  Her opponent couldn’t hit her, but neither could she hit Ruby.  Even more unnerving, the younger woman was smiling.

And of course Ruby was smiling, as she swung her sweetheart in a counterattack against her foe.  Their battle was like a dance.  Granted Ruby wasn’t very good at dancing, but that was normal dancing.  This kind of dance, however, of move and countermove, this she could do.  And when was the last time she’d had such a good partner?  Not since Yang had stopped sparring with her, which was essentially as soon as the Festival was announced.  Of course, Yang was her sister, and the lovely and elegant woman she faced now wasn’t, adding a new thrill to the dance as they moved up and down the arena.  

Then the sun reflected off a piece of metal behind Weiss’ shoulder.

_Bang!  Bang!  Bang!_

Ruby pushed against her opponent, knocking her over as three burst of electricity flew through the space we’re the white-haired woman had been standing.  One of them flew past Ruby’s head, missing by a wide margin, but the other two hit her dead in the chest.

Weiss jumped back to her feet, just in time to see Ruby raise her scythe and fire, shoving her body back, out of the way of Weiss’ return strike.  Not that Weiss thought she could’ve struck back.  As Whitely came up beside her, she glared at her brother, who couldn’t be bothered to aim properly.

Whitely didn’t notice her ire.  Instead, he just ordered, “Weiss, use the rack.”

Weiss’ eyes widened.  “The rack?  Now?”

”Just do it.”

”We can’t use it in the first match,” she hissed.  “If we use it now—”

Whitely turned on her, and screamed in her face, ”DO IT!”

The Schnee daughter held his stare for a brief instant, then dropped her gaze.  She knew she couldn’t win this argument, and if they kept on, they would lose.  Reluctantly, she lifted her hand and suddenly, four glyphs appeared around Ruby’s limbs, suspending her in the air.  She struggled, but she couldn’t move.  She was trapped.

I’m sorry, Weiss thought, as she looked at the younger woman, trapped and helpless, while Whitely grinned lecherously as he leveled his pistol at her.  A glyph appeared in front of his barrel.  One shot, and her aura would shatter.  One shot, and she would be their’s for the rest of her life.

He fired.

And the young woman blurred.

The woman was vibrating at high speed, rose petals falling off her body.  And then, the glyphs broke, and Ruby was free.  She dropped to the ground and fell flat, letting the shot fly above her.

Weiss’ jaw dropped.  “What?”

”Weiss, what did you do?”

”I didn’t do anything!” Weiss snapped.  “It’s her Semblance, something to do with those flower petals.  She broke my glyphs!”

”How is that possible?” He snapped.

”I don’t know!” Weiss said.  She watched the woman get up and cast her eyes about for her scythe.  “She’s trying to get her weapon!  Block her!” She shouted.  The two began running to get between their opponent and her weapon.  Whitely, finally being useful, began firing shots at her wildly.

Ruby leapt to the side, easily missing the fireballs headed her way.  The siblings however had managed to get between her and her weapon.  The brother was grinning again, his arrogant confidence returning.  He couldn’t hit the broadside of a Paladin, but he thought that his expensive Dust ammo would win him the match.  The jerk.

His sister, on the other hand, she was dangerous.  She clearly knew what she was doing with those glyphs, and if Ruby hadn’t trained her semblance so much, or if the pretty girl had decided to use a more offensive-heavy attack . . . Dang, but she was stunning, though, standing there like a heroine from a fantasy novel or a war story with her sword raised and her gorgeous blue eyes staring at her—no!  Focus!  

Her sweetheart was behind the two of them, and while Ruby could probably beat the jerk without her, she would need to recover Cresent Rose if she wasnted to win.  Ruby took a deep breath, asummed a sprinter’s pose, and RAN.

For Weiss, it all happened in an instant.  One minute, the hooded girl was staring them down.  The next: the girl seemed to explode into a burst of rose petals, and a streak of red was flying their way.  The crimson missile flew between the siblings, blowing them apart with the resulting shockwave or the young woman’s limbs. 

Speed! Weiss’ brain realized.  Her Semblance is Speed!

”Whitely!” She called.  Her Semblance—“

BANG!

Ruby had spun the scythe around and fired, launching herself after at Whitely, and had collided with him feet-first.  Whitely toppled over, falling to the ground.  He didn’t move, and the billboard lit up, announcing that Whitely’s meager aura had fallen into the red.

”Whitely Schnee has been defeated!” Oobleck cried in shock and excitement.

”Now, it’s a catfight!” Port cried.

Ruby wasted no time and launched herself at Weiss like she did her brother, but Weiss raised a Glyph for a shield and blocked it.  Moving too fast to adjust or stop easily, Ruby collided with the floating crest.  Her aura took the brunt of the hit, but it still jolted her system, and the red reaper landed in moaning heap.  

Weiss was also shocked by the blow hitting her shield, but she recovered faster.  The Schnee daughter counter-attacked, dropping the Glyph and charging blade first, but Ruby’s reflexes took over.  The younger woman rolled, and Weiss had to catch herself to avoid sinking Myrtenaster’s blade into the ground.  This would have been a fatal misstep, and it still cost precious seconds.  However, in her haste to escape, Ruby had rolled into  a rock.  This new position trapped her arm and left her helpless, and Weiss knew she could still finish the fight with one blow.  

BANG!

A sound like a blast of thunder exploded, and Weiss felt a _whoosh_ as her opponent flew away from her.  Her scythe, Weiss belatedly realized.  Ruby had gotten ahold of it again and had used it to launch herself like a rocket—only this time to escape. Weiss looked around, scanning for the red-clad woman.  

It didn’t take long to find her.  Ruby had used the confusion to position herself back on her side of the area, well out of range of Weiss’ strike-range.  Standing on her side of the arena, the reaper dug her scythe blade into the ground, using it like a monopod, and began firing.  Weiss conjured another Glyph.  The shots hammered her shield, but it held.  The remaining Schnee began trying to formulate a strategy.  Her opponent had the advantage right now; without Whitely, Weiss didn’t really have any long-range attacks available to her.  The smartest move then would be to try to find her brother’s pistol and—

BANG!

Weiss felt something slam into her Glyph with all the force of a falling bullhead. Shaking her head, to clear the ringing, she strengthened the floating crest just in time for another blast to explode against it. 

Ruby smiled at the results of her experiment.  While Weiss had been trying to find a way to launch a long range attack against her, Ruby had dropped the rest of the magazine and swapped it out for another one—the one loaded with combustion rounces.  Her opponent’s shield was holding,  it her aura was dropping like a stone.  Another minute or two of this, and she’d fall into the red.  Ruby was a little disappointed that the fight was going to end in such an anticlimactic way—oh, she was running behind one of the larger rocks.  That was smart; it allow her to conserve her aura as she thought up a plan to turn things around.

In point of fact, Weiss had thought up a plan.  While she was scrambling behind the rock, she’d caught sight of Whitely’s gun. If she could just get ahold of it, she’d be able to fight back.  Ruby was still firing, and the rock would only maybe another minute’s worth of sustained fire, and she couldn’t count on the red-hooded terror not having more ammunition.  No other choice, then; she’d have to make a break for it now.  If she were lucky, the smoke from the explosions might obscure her somewhat.

A piece of rock was chipped of the top her barricade, and Weiss decided to stop trying to convince herself and just run.

So she ran.  She dashed out diagonally, making behind another rock without being hit.  Analyzing the rock formations around her, she tried to calculate the best path.  The course she settled on involved conjuring another Glyph and scrambling around the rock she was hiding behind to get behind another in front of it.

She wasn’t as lucky, and Ruby saw her, and the redhead adjusted her aim and resumed firing.  More explosive shots impacted her shield.  Weiss whinced under assault but managed to get behind her target.  She didn’t have a lot of aura left; losing was now a very real threat.  On the other hand, she was now almost within reach of Whitely‘s dropped pistol.  Whitely himself had been removed by medics after Ruby’s last attack had rendered him unconscious. For once, Weiss was grateful for her brother’s weak aura; had he still be awake, her brother would have taken the weapon with him.  Being incapacitated, however, Whitely was removed, but the medics hadn’t put any special effort into retrieving his lost possessions.  Weiss wasn’t sure what she’d had planned was strictly permissible under the Festival’s rules, but as this was the first match, it was probably better to ask forgiveness than permission.

So thinking, she dashed out from behind the rock and picked up the gun.  Crouching behind another (smaller) rock, Weiss tried to return fire against Ruby.  “Tried” being the key word.  Weiss had spent years training in fencing and in wielding Myrenaster specifically, but she’d never held outside of some courses on firearms safety.  Suffice to say, those courses hadn’t included actual shooting.  That was Whitely’s job.  She was vaguely aware of the concept of kickback, but it didn’t stop the gun from jerking in her hand, sending her shots wild, not that they were likely to hit in the first place.  

Still, the spray of gunfire was enough to force Ruby to move to avoid being hit as even though the shots were wild standing up in an open space wasn’t the best idea.  The red reaper sped around and ducked behind one of the rocks on Weiss’ half of the arena.  Now, both were in the above-ground version of trench warfare.  

Weiss was annoyed by this turn of events, for about five seconds.  An idea occurred to her, one that was almost certain to work; after all it was the same strategy she and Whitely had used quite effectively in their training battles, and there was no reason it shouldn’t held her here.  Gripping the pistol in both hands, she aimed at the rock behind which she knew Ruby was hiding.  Weiss conjured a Glyph in front of the barrel and pulled the trigger.  A massive fireball flew out and collided with the Stoney barrier, engulfing it in flames.  Even with an aura, it was almost certainly enough to end or nearly end the fight.

Or it would have been.  Except, the instant before the fireball hit, an explosion resounded behind the rock, and a streak of red rocketted into the air.  Weiss’ eyes slowly tracked up into the air, where Ruby was slowly spinning around, aiming her semi-collapsed scythe at Weiss’ unguarded head.  The Schnee daughter immediately raised the pistol and rapidly pulled the trigger. Her heart dropped as nothing but dry clicks came from the weapon.

Twisting in mid-air, Ruby had a moment of alarm as she saw her enemy raise a gun in her direction.  However, when nothing came flying her way, the reaper quickly realized her enemy was out of ammo.  Too bad, she thought, before opening fire on the helpless platinum blonde beauty.  Not so helpless, as it turned out.  Weiss immediately conjured a Glyph above herself.  Ruby continued falling to Remnant whilst hammering Weiss' impromptu barrier with combustion Dust shots.  It was steadily taking chunks off her opponent's aura, but Ruby knew she'd land before Weiss lost the strength to continue.  Besides, if she couldn't hold out that long, the white-haired woman could be hurt pretty badly.  Ruby was having too much fun to let something like that happen.  So, about three seconds before hitting the Glyph, Ruby stopped firing and landed on the floating crest.  Rolling to minimize the shock, she flipped off the Glyph and landed on the ground.  Switching Cresent Rose into its sickle-on-a-stick form Ruby brought iit up and around, the point just under Weiss’ chin.

”I win,” Ruby said.

Weiss’ Glyph failed. Her heart clenched.  “NO!” she shouted.  Forgetting all her training, she swung Myrtenaster in a telegraphed, overhead swing.  Ruby easily parried the attack and swung her scythe around, hitting Weiss hard in the side.

Weiss fell to the ground.  Hard.  It was difficult to breathe; the wind had been knocked out of her.  She knew what that meant.  Even so, she looked up at the scoreboard, hoping that made she just had enough aura to continue fighting.

Ruby was t looking at her.  When she’d gone down, the reaper had paused in horror.  Had she injured her fellow warrior?  But that would mean her aura was either broken or exhausted, didn’t it?  She looked up to the scoreboard.  

Weiss Schnee’s aura was in the red.

Beat.

“The match is over," Oobleck whispered.  "The winner is . . . RUBY ROSE!”  

The audience remained silent for a moment.  Everyone was staring in shock at the idea of a lone girl—a child, barely old enough to compete—had triumphed over a favorite team.  

 Then, they exploded.  Cries for and against Ruby erupted from the crowd.  It seemed the spectators couldn’t make up their mind about whether or not Ruby was a lucky bitch who had no right winning against two older, richer opponents or if she was a kickass heroine underdog.  The difference seemed to be based on a mix of gender and patriotism. 

Yet, almost as soon as they were through cheering, they fell silent, as the Lady Regent stood once more, and raised her hands.  "Miss Rose is the victor.  As per tradition, she must now claim her prize."

Her prize . . . Ruby wanted to vomit at that statement.  She'd forgotten.  In the giddy high of battle, she'd forgotten why she was doing this.  What the stakes were.  The woman in front of her—beautiful, strong, smart, and honorable—had just been reduced to a commodity.  Her commodity.  By her own hand.  For a minute, the red reaper wanted to use her Semblance to dash out of the stadium, but that wouldn't help Weiss.  Nothing could help her or any of the other sacrifices, except Ruby winning this accursed Festival.  So, Ruby reached out a trembling hand and places it on her opponent's throat, finger tips touching the veins of Spirit Dust in the ribbon.  Weiss flinched under her touch, and Ruby winced at the reaction and at the silent pleading, begging, in the older woman's eyes.  Swallowing hard, she spoke.

”Weiss Schnee,” Ruby intoned.  “I, Ruby Rose . . . By right of victory in this, the Vytal Fesitval, take you as my Concubine. Your mind, body, heart, and soul are mine, bound as slave to master; you are mine to command as I will and to . . . use as I please . . . from this day forward until death . . . _or_ _sale_  . . . shall separate you from my House and Heirs.” Ruby swallowed, looking Weiss in the eyes.  They were wide, and the pale woman was paler, looking on the brink of tears.  Ruby cursed herself but finished the rite.  “So mote it be.”

Weiss shuddered as she felt _something_ through the collar.  It felt like it tightened, or maybe that it was preparing to tighten.  The thing seemed to weigh a million pounds, like it was both burning hot and freezing cold.  Despite all she’d ever been taught about being a Schnee and about being proper and strong and dignified, she felt like she was about to start crying.

* * *

Glynda hated it, but she was forced to use her telekinesis to grab her guardswoman and  stop her from leaping into the arena and murdering the victor.

”Let me go!” she hissed. 

“No,” the consort replied.  

“Let me kill her.”

“That won’t help your sister,” Oscar said.  “It’s too late; the magic’s already taken her.  

Glynda muttered.  “Winter, don’t—please don’t make me order you.”

Like magic, the struggling guardswoman froze.  “She’s my little sister . . .”

”We know,” the other guard said, breaking his silence.  “We know, but please, please trust us, Winter.  Her mistress—”  He paused, as the woman stiffened at the words.  “Miss Rose is a good match for her.”

“Dammit, Ozpin,” she hissed at the “dead” Emperor.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm . . . I wonder what Winter’s doing with Ozpin and Glynda. And why Ozpin chose to fake his own death. 
> 
> I tweaked the timeline a little so that Winter could fit in this story. Instead of being born after the Annexation of Atlas, Weiss and Whitely's generation is merely the first to have grown up under Vale's control
> 
> The concubine oath is based off the one in Radaslab’s story. I liked it. I stole it.


	7. The Claiming of Weiss Schnee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first lemon.

Weiss sat on a bench outside the infirmary.  Her brother was still unconscious and under observation, probably a result of his weak aura, Weiss thought, though she only considered the matter for a moment before moving on to a more pressing issue.  To the outside world, the white-haired woman was staring at the blank white wall in front of her.  Mentally, she was running a marathon, running through all the lists of rules and procedures she had memorized in preparing for the Festival, looking for anything—a loophole, an escape clause, _anything_ —that would let her free herself.  But, there was nothing; the Spirit Dust collar around her neck was essentially fused to her body now.  It could not be removed; she could not be freed, only sold to another owner. 

On the other end of the bench, Ruby wasn't feeling much better.  She had enjoyed the match with Weiss, really enjoyed it.  Then, she won.  She won, and she was reminded why she had signed up for this horrible thing in the first place, to end the damn thing and stop women from being taken as slaves.  Unfortunately, that meant she had to take slaves herself over the course of the Festival.  She'd been so pleased and so proud with her victory, and it had ruined another young woman's life.

Out of the corner of her eye, she looked at the woman in question, Weiss.  Her former opponent wasn't much older than herself.  She was a young woman, a beautiful and talented and strong young woman, and she deserved so much more than to be treated as chattel. 

What the heck was Ruby supposed to do?

_Clack.  Clack.  Clack._

Someone was coming.  Ruby looked up and saw a white-haired man with a well-groomed beard.  He was dressed in a blue suit that probably cost more than the parts for Crescent Rose.  His blue eyes were like the very essence of ice itself.  They looked at Ruby with undisguised contempt.

"Father . . ." Weiss whispered, and Ruby's stomach dropped.  This day was just getting worse; now she would have to deal with the angry father of the woman she'd just enslaved.  This could not end well—not that she deserved any less.

Weiss meanwhile felt hope flutter alive in her ribcage.  Her father was here.  He'd come for her.  He was always so cold and distant, yet now, when his children needed him, he was there.  Maybe the rules of the Festival said she couldn't be saved, but her father's wealth, influence, and connections could accomplish anything.  She'd never been so happy about her father's disregard for the rules.

She leapt to her feet as he approached.  He stopped in front of her.  His cold gaze slid down from Ruby to herself, and his frown increased.

"Miss Rose," he said.  "Please control your slave."

"What?" Ruby asked.  Not the most well-thought-out response, but considering she could barely think at all, who could blame her? 

Jacques Schnee continued on as if neither had spoken.  "Miss Rose, I've come to retrieve my family's heirloom weapon."

"What?" Ruby asked again.  This time, though, she wasn't bug-eyed and blank faced.  Now, she was beginning to get annoyed.

"Myrtenaster, the ancestral sword of the Schnee family," Jacques replied.  "My daughter," he gestured dismissively towards Weiss, "wielded it in your match today.  I've come to take it back."

"Father . . . what?" Weiss asked, her voice breaking.  "But, I thought you were here to rescue me!"

Jacques finally turned his gaze to her, and Weiss wilted under his harsh, cruel eyes.  "Shut up, Weiss.  You are no longer my daughter; you are the property of the one you were stupid enough to lose to.  Those are the rules.  I would have expected you of all people to know that."

"What?" both women asked.

Jacques ignored their outburst, instead reaching out an open hand to his disinherited child.  "Now, give me the sword."

Weiss' breath hitched.  She felt so, so stupid.  How had she ever expected anything else?  Her entire life, her father had made it clear how little she meant to him, so why had she believed, even for a moment, that he would help her now that she was no longer useful to him?  Mechanically, she reached to her side and began to draw Myrtenaster.  Her beloved sword was hers no longer.  It would be returned to the Schnee family vaults until someone new could take it up.  She hoped her future niece or nephew would prove more worthy of the blade than she had.

"No."

Weiss froze as an electric jolt shot through her from the collar, though it was mostly shock.  Turning around, she saw Ruby, her master, glaring at her father with a look of undisguised hatred.

"No," Ruby repeated.  "She's not giving you the sword.  Article 2 of the Vytal Festival Handbook:  When a sacrifice is claimed by her master, she brings with her all everything she wore into the match and the weapon she fought with."  Pointing her finger at the sword in Weiss' hand, she continued.  "Weiss used that sword in our match; it's hers.  You gave it up like you gave her up when you made her enter this mess!"

Jacques' glare intensified, and Weiss would have melted if it hadn't been directed at Ruby.  Even looking at it from the outside, she felt weak in the knees.  "Now see here, you uppity strumpet—"

"It's in the rules!" Ruby snapped.  "Weiss is mine, and that super-cool sword of hers is mine by extension.  If you have a problem with that, take it up with the Regent!"

Jacques' mouth snapped shut.  For a  moment, he was silent, just glaring at her.  Finally, he said.  "If you insist."  Then, he turned around and walked away without another glance.

Weiss sat down.  Honestly, it was more like she collapsed on the bench.  Five minutes ago, she couldn't imagine how her life could possibly get any worse.  Now, she knew.  She fought the urge to cry.  There was no reason to cry; she'd always known her father saw her only as a  means to an end.  How could this surprise her.  She was still a Schnee, dammit!  Schnees did not cry.  They did not cry.  They did not!

All of a sudden, Weiss felt a pair of warm arms wrap around her from the side, looking up, she saw Ruby, her master, embracing her tightly.  "I'm sorry," Ruby said. 

"Why?" Weiss asked.

"No one deserves that.  You . . . you deserved better than that."

Despite herself, Weiss felt the tears fall from her eyes.  She leaned into the embrace.  "You shouldn't have done that," she whispered.  "Now, he'll want to hurt.  He'll want to prove that he's stronger than you.  Stronger than anyone."

Ruby just held her tighter.  "It doesn't matter.  He can't treat you like that.  You're my . . . my slave now, and that means . . . It means I'm going to protect you, Weiss.  We're in this together Weiss.  I promise."

Weiss buried her face in her master's neck and cried.  She cried and cried until she finally blacked out.

* * *

Other matches happen between Ruby and Schnees and the end of the day.  That was a necessity; with so many teams in first round, there was no way to limit them to one match a day.  Not unless everyone was willing to wait a year or more before the next king was crowned, and that was not an advisable move.  Also, it was not very entertaining for the masses, given how short some of the matches could be. 

There were five rounds scheduled for each day.  Ruby and Weiss fought in the first.  Between waiting outside Whitely's room and then traveling back to the hotel Ruby was staying at, they missed the next two.  When they got back, however, Weiss immediately went to the TV and turned it on, selecting the Festival.  Ruby thought about asking her to change it.  It felt . . . disgusting to watch, as though they were supporting this spectacle (technically they were, but that was different).  However, she saw the look on Weiss' face.  It was stony, focused like a student attending their mentor's lecture.  The tear tracks had been wiped away, and her face was less red, but if this was something Weiss needed to do to deal with her situation, well, all right.  Walking around behind the couch, Ruby decided to join her. 

It wasn't like she had no choice in the matter; the suite's bedroom had a television of its own.  Ruby just didn’t think either of them wanted to be alone in this big, empty set of rooms. At least, she wouldn’t.  Everything was too big and too expensive for her to be comfortable in.  The red reaper would say this for the people who had organized the Festival, they weren't cheap when it came to room and board.  The buildings the competitors were required to use for downtime made the tiny house in Patch Ruby had grown up in seem like . . . well, a tiny house.  The suite was easily the size of the entire ground floor of the house.  All the furniture and fixtures were made of polished wood, stainless steel, marble, and fabrics Ruby couldn't even guess the names of.  It was probably a step-down for a scion of the Schnee family, but to Ruby it was worth more money than she'd ever dreamed she could own.

And that isn't counting the money I get from winning, she mused, as she sat down next to (but still a friendly distance away from) Weiss.  The thought brought up even more convoluted feelings for her.  it all felt so wrong that she was getting so much out of enslaving another person.  Ruby's hand curled into a fist.  One more reason to win this awful Festival and shut it down forever.

Seeing that Weiss was ignoring her—which was maybe good, because she had no idea what to say to the other woman anyway that wouldn't make things worse—Ruby decided to do as she did and watch the match.  If nothing else, they needed to know how their enemies fought. The current match, however . . . it was strange.  There was no other way to describe it.  It was short, for one thing, not even taking half the time that had been allotted for it.  It featured a tall, broad-shouldered man, clearly heavily muscled.  His name was Junior (that name was vaguely familiar to Ruby; she thought Yang may have mentioned it once or twice, but this couldn't be the same person, right?), and he fought with a big metal club that looked like a combination of a kanabo and a baseball bat on steroids.  His partner was a red-clad young woman armed with bladed bracers called Miltia.  Their opponent was a solo fighter.  Her name was Melanie Malachite, and she bore a striking resemblance to Miltia.  She was dressed in white, and had heeled shoes, bladed heels. Weird idea, but Ruby had seen things that were way weirder.  

That wasn’t what bugged her, though.  It was in how the three fought.  It was all wrong.  It felt like they were going through the motions.  None of them was really trying, Ruby thought.  Not even Melanie who was fighting for her freedom.  She lost it, her freedom.  She was beaten down into the red zone by a combination of the other woman's blades and the man's heavy metal club.

"What's wrong with her?" Ruby asked.  "She doesn't seem to care.  None of them do."

"She threw the match," Weiss said.  She wasn't sure if the question was directed at her; her collar didn't squeeze or shock her.  Still, she felt a desire to share her knowledge.  "They did what my father tried to do with me and Whitely.  They rigged their first match."

Ruby frowned.  "Are you kidding me?"

”It isn’t that hard to do,” Weiss explained.  “All it takes is enough money, and the clothes they’re wearing are designer.”

”I guess,” Ruby started before cutting herself off.  “That’s not what I meant.  Weiss . . .” her voice trailed off, and Weiss turned to look at her.  Ruby was struggling to form the words.  Was she trying to ask the question in a way that wouldn’t trigger the collar?  Or was it all just too much for such a simple, honest soul to take in?

Whatever the reason, Weiss wilted Unser her mistress’ unasked questions. “Yes, that’s what happened in our match. At least, that’s what my father tried to arrange.”  Weiss looked down, as she continued.  "Don't you realize how bad our fields were for you?  Do you think that was a coincidence?  No, my father bribed the officials, trying to make sure Whitely and I would win.  He paired us against the youngest—and presumed easiest—opponent, a solo opponent, and then made sure we would fight on the worst possible terrain for you."

"But that's . . . that's  . . ." Ruby struggled to describe it.

"Dishonest?  Yes," Weiss admitted.

"No.  I mean, yeah it is, but that's not the point," Ruby said.  "I mean it's a bad idea.”  Weiss looked up at her in shock.  Ruby explained.  “In the long run, it just means your team will be really weak. You’ll never get the chance to really challenge yourself and grow your skills, and it means most of your teammates will be weak too.  What kind of strategy is that?  Sooner or later all the weak teams will be eliminated, and there’ll be nothing left but the strongest ones.  Even if you made it to the finals, do you really think you could have won against that kind of odds?  Won against a team who’ve fought real enemies and won honestly?"

Weiss blinked a couple times.  “I . . . I honestly never thought of it that way before.”  She considered the issue in silence for a minute before shrugging.  "I expected he planned to help us cheat through those matches, too, somehow.  My father doesn't care about our family's legacy, only about putting Whitely on the throne."

“Well, it looks like he needs a new hobby,” Ruby said, frowning at Weiss’ assessment of her father.  “Cuz I think I just ruined that one.”

”You did,” Weiss agreed.  “And in doing so made a very powerful enemy.”

”. . . Oh,” was all Ruby could say in reply.”

* * *

The two women watched the rest of the matches.  They hadn’t eaten after their own match—too much to deal with—so their stomachs began rumbling at the same time.  Ruby opted to order in, and Weiss was inclined to agree.  Checking their nearby options, Ruby suggested pizza.  To Weiss’ surprise, her mistress not only asked if she wanted anything else.  

“. . . I’ve never had pizza,” Weiss admitted.

”What?  Seriously?” Ruby asked.

The former Schnee nodded.  “Father didn’t think it was sophisticated enough for us, and I never wanted to challenge him over junk food.”  She shrugged.  “I generally prefer to eat healthier, anyway.”

”Oh, well, if you’d rather have something else . . . ?” Ruby offered.

”No, this is the start of my new life; I may as well explore my options, Weiss replied.  She decided to take it slow, however, and ordered a Margarita pizza, reasoning that she liked caprese, and this was just caprese on bread.  Ruby ordered a Menagerian-style pie, loaded with ham and pineapple.  Since they had no other food in the room—Ruby hadn't been shopping yet—she also ordered garlic and cheesy breadsticks as a side as well as a 2-liter bottle of soda.  To her delight, the pizzeria also baked cookies, and she ordered four large chocolate chip pastries to serve as dessert.

The pair enjoyed their first dinner together.  They didn't say much, though they didn't have to.  Ruby turned the television to a comedy movie, and the silence was replaced with the sounds of slapstick, puns, and a young woman's laughter.  Weiss didn't laugh as loudly as did her mistress, but she did smile for the first time since the day had begun.

Eventually, however, the good mood ended, and the awkwardness ensued.  The movie wrapped up, and the pair put away their leftovers and cleared the table.  That done, they stood in the room, blushing. 

". . . Well!" Weiss said.  She may have meant it as a question, but it came out a little too forcefully.

"Well, what?" Ruby asked.

"Are you going to, to . . ." Weiss couldn't bring herself to say the rest.

"We don't have to," Ruby said.  "We have a month, don't we?"

"If all goes well, yes," Weiss replied.

"So, why do we need to rush it?"

"Because all doesn't go well!" Weiss snapped.  "Because if we put it off, we'll miss it.  The bond won't finalize, and I'll be . . . taken."

It was a cold truth.  One of the rules of concubines, from a time when slavery had been more common rather than a remnant of an older age only kept alive because of an ultra-traditionalist blood sport, was that the master (or mistress) had to finalize the bond within 30 days of claiming their human chattel.  Failure to do so could apparently result in the slave in question "slipping the leash" as it were, and so a law had been passed saying the government could claim any concubine not claimed in a timely fashion to dispose of as they pleased.  "Finalized" meant having sex with the new sex slave.  Ruby had never totally believed that sex was really the only way to seal the bond—ostensibly it was the result of auras mixing, and weren't there other, less intimate ways of accomplishing that?  It didn't matter, though; she had no idea how to finalize the bond in another way and if she didn't . . .

"I . . ."  Weiss broke off and looked away.  "I don't trust the authorities with my well-being.  If it's all the same, I'd rather remain your slave than take a risk on someone less . . . amicable."

Ruby nodded.  "If you're sure."  Another awkward pause.  "Let's, ah, go to the bedroom?" 

It sounded more like a suggestion, at best.  Still, Weiss decided to go along with it.

"Very well."

Her living up to her name, Ruby led the older woman into her bedroom.  It was a nice room.  In addition to the flat screen on the wall, there were two long dressers beneath it.  Against another wall stood a desk with a swivel chair.  An open door led into the bathroom, and a third wall was a single, large window (curtains drawn, thankfully).  Against the final wall, stood a king-sized bed with night tables on either side.  Lamps rested on them, but neither woman cared much about the lamps.  They were more concerned with the bed itself, and what it meant.

The two again stood awkwardly in front of each other, doing their best not to look each other in the eye.  Or at the bed, though they kept sneaking glances.  ". . . You have to order me to undress," Weiss said at last.

"Yeah, right," Ruby said.  "I forgot . . . Um," she looked up at Weiss.  "You sure you want to do this?"

No, Weiss wasn't, but she knew she never would be and the longer she put it off, the more reluctant she would become.  So, she nodded, not sure she could speak without stuttering. 

"Right," Ruby said.  "So, um, strip."

It wasn't exactly an order, but Weiss felt a slight tingle in the collar.  Maybe she was imagining it, but she wasn't in the mood to question it.  With quick, jerky movements, she disrobed.  It wasn't alluring so much as functional, but Ruby's eyes grew wide, and she stared at the sight of the nude woman before her.  Weiss' face was pretty, and her figure was no less so.  Perfect, snowy skin, almost as pale as her pair.  The groomed patch between her legs formed a lovely white triangle.  Her limbs were short but with lean muscle, her stomach was flat, and her breasts were small but pert with nipples that seemed large compared to the mounds they rested on.

Weiss blushed a little more as she stood naked in front of her mistress.  On the one hand, she felt flattered that she could cause such a reaction in another person.  On the other hand, she was standing naked in front of a clothed person—basically a stranger—and who was staring at her.  "What are you staring at!" she snapped.  "This can't be the first time you've seen a nude woman!"

"Actually . . . it is," Ruby admitted.  Now it was Weiss' turn to stare at her.  "I mean, I've seem my sister naked, but that doesn't really count.  We didn't have public showers at my school, so, yeah.  You're kind of my first."

Weiss cocked her head.  "I'm your first female partner?"

Ruby shook her head.  "No.  You're my first ever.  Of either gender."

". . . You're a VIRGIN?" Weiss asked, her jaw dropping.  Her mistress' further intensified blush (and really, it was a wonder she hadn't fainted, with all the blood in her body rushing towards her face) answered for her.  "How, what, why?"

"I just, I was too busy training to, you know, get close to anyone," Ruby stammered.  "First it was to become a hunter like my uncle, but then the Festival came and—"

"And you DIDN'T lose your virginity then?" Weiss asked.  "What kind of dunce are you?  If you didn't have any friends you trusted, hire a prostitute!  Didn't it occur to you that you could lose, you dolt?  Grimm and Dust!  I was expecting to win the entire Festival, and I still spent a few nights at  bordello just to make sure that if I did somehow lose, I wouldn't lose my first time to some random bastard!"  She cringed internally, when she realized that she had, in fact, lost and that Ruby was therefore the "random bastard" she had been talking about.

Judging by Ruby's own flinch, she had reached the same conclusion.  "Yeah, well.  I don't plan to lose.  It's why I spent so much time training.  I need to win Weiss, and well, I kind of never thought about this . . . this," she said, waving her hand in Weiss' general direction.

"Obviously," Weiss muttered.  It was strange that she was so annoyed at the risks taken by the woman who had now enslaved her and was about to justify her precautions.  Then again, maybe she was just a little miffed that the younger woman's strategy seemed to have worked out. 

Ruby took her own clothes off.  To calling it stripping was even more inappropriate than Weiss' act of disrobing; Weiss, after all, couldn't strip at superspeed.  One minute, the russet-haired woman was dressed in her dirty skirt and cloak combination, and the next, she was naked as Weiss while rose petals fell in a shower around her.

Weiss would admit if only to herself that she the part of her that had thought Ruby would make a good concubine wasn't entirely wrong.  She'd seen a picture of the younger woman clothed.  Now, she saw all of her.  Her legs weren't long but weren't short like her own were, and they were taunt with muscle that showed off how much she had trained her semblance.  Her whole body was lean, but there was a bit of curve to her hips, on either side of the next of dark red curls that grew wild between them.  Her breasts were either high B-cup or low C and had dark red nipples, appropriate for her namesake.  Combined with the woman's shy nature, Weiss found her self getting aroused in spite of the situation they found themselves in.

Realizing that her mistress was likely not going to take the imitative, Weiss did so herself.  The white-haired woman climbed onto the bed, kneeling on the covers.  Ruby hesitated, but walked after her, at normal speed rather than using the Semblance-born celerity she had used to disrobe.  The two women stood on their knees facing each other.  Ruby edged a little closer.  Swallowing, she slowly moved forward and kissed her slave.

It was slow and hesitant at first, a press of lips against lips, but from the first contact, a spark ignited between them.  Whether it was a side effect of the bond or the stress of the day, both, or something else entirely, neither could guess.  All the pair new was that a heat erupted within them and what was at first an unpleasant obligation soon began a raging, demanding, overpowering _need._   Ruby and Weiss embraced, kissing each other desperately.  Their hands cupped each others' faces, running over and into hair, holding each other as close as possible as though they were afraid to stop kissing for even a single instant.  Their hands moved lower, over each others' necks, shoulders, and backs.  They gripped one another's buttocks.

Ruby kissed down Weiss’ jaw.  Down her neck. Her collarbone.  She cupped the White-haired woman’s small breasts in her hands and wrapped her mouth around one nipple.  She sucked hard on the teat, while her hand twisted and squeezed the other breast.  Weiss’ hands pulled her closer.

Ruby kissed down her slave’s belly, across her navel, until she reached her sex.  She kissed those soft lips once, before burying her face in the older woman's pussy.  Reaching out with her tongue, she explored the insides of those lips, and the warm wet passage behind them.  Her nose rubbed against Weiss' hood.  The white-haired woman herself made quiet, suppressed noises.  Her hands clamped around Ruby's head and held her in place, while her hips bucked against her master's mouth.  Despite her inexperience, Ruby was naturally talented.  The russet-haired woman responded by digging her fingers into Weiss' butt once more and redoubling her efforts. 

Weiss enjoyed what she was doing, and Ruby enjoyed doing it.  She wanted to touch and taste every inch of the white-haired woman.  More importantly, she wanted Weiss to take pleasure in their relationship.  Ruby had taken away her freedom; her father had taken away her dignity.  The very least Ruby could give back to her was pleasure.

And boy, did she succeed.  Weiss threw her head back, panting.  Her own hands had never felt so good.  Neither had the man she'd hired to take her virginity.  This was something else, something that wiped out all thought and all memory.  All she knew was the wonderful sensations shooting through her body like a an electric current and the feelings of joy, affection, and belonging.  Ruby's tongue was warm and wet and  was hitting all her pleasure spots.  It was so good.  So good.  So—

"Ah!" she cried as her muscles convulsed in orgasm.  Ruby didn't stop her licking, just kept lapping up the fluid Weiss released into her mouth.  Weiss' eyes rolled into the back of her head as she collapsed back against the bed.  Or rather, she almost collapsed against the bed; Ruby's grip on her butt kept her somewhat upright.  Ruby pulled back from her slave's pussy and lowered her as gently as possible to the mattress.  Weiss continued to lay to there, panting, while Ruby planted kisses up her body.  First her still swollen pussy lips, then right above them, then the navel, then a line of kisses up Weiss' belly, between her breasts, her collarbone.  Then, Ruby paused.  She looked down at the semi-conscious Weiss. 

The white-haired woman blinked.  Then blinked again.  Her eyes re-focused on Ruby's face.  She looked into those silver eyes, so gentle and hesitant yet wanting.  She looked into those eyes and that face and saw Ruby's desire.  Yet, she knew she could say no, and Ruby would let her.  Her master would honor her requests, and for a moment, Weiss was tempted to tell her not to.  She was tempted to deny the other woman for no other reason than she could deny her.  And yet, and yet . . .

Weiss lifted her head and pressed her lips against Ruby's, and the other woman's mouth melted against her own.  Those lips tasted of Weiss' own juices and of her toothpaste, and they were soft against her own.  There was an eagerness to her kiss, but it was tempered by hesitation; every move of her lips was fast but was stopped fast as well, and there was a brief pause between the presses of her lips.  She let Weiss take charge of the kiss, and so it was Weiss who pulled back first.  Even so, both were left panting from the length of the kiss.

"Wow . . ." Ruby said.  Weiss could only nod.  The two stared at each other, faces flushed and panting lightly.  "So . . ." Ruby said, her eyes darting away from Weiss' for a moment, but the only way she could look was down her body, and she immediately returned to the woman's face.

"So?" Weiss asked.

"They say," Ruby said with a swallow.  "They say you have to, um, please me for the, uh, the collar to be finalized."

"That's right," Weiss said.  "I have to service you."

"You don't have to," Ruby said, "if you don't want to."

"I do," Weiss said, frowning.

"I know, but . . ."  Ruby ran her hand through her hair.  "I just . . ."

"You just what?" Weiss asked.

". . . I don't want you to hate me," Ruby admitted.

Weiss blinked.  That was right.  She should hate Ruby, shouldn't she?  This woman, this girl, had publicly beaten her, claimed her as a slave, and forced her to have sex with her.  What kind of idiot wouldn't hate her?

Except, Ruby wasn't forcing her to please her, in fact she was trying to insist that Weiss could choose not to.  That was more than Weiss had ever planned for the slaves she and Whitely expected to take; she didn't want to hurt them, but Weiss had never considered giving her hypothetical concubines a choice in the matter, and Ruby, Ruby had almost been one of them.  Weiss had been content (if not happy) to go along with her father's plans to fix the odds against the redhead.  Ruby had fought honorably and now, as her master, had treated her . . . Ruby had taken her to see her brother without even being asked, had listened to her opinions during the other matches, had given her the best orgasm she had ever experienced in her short life.

Weiss smiled a little.  "It's all right, Mistress.  I . . ."  Her face burned like it had burst into flames.  "I want to."

Ruby stared at her for in comic surprise.  Then, her own face grew redder.  "Oh.  All right."  She smiled a little as she grew even redder.  "Um, what should I do?"

"Lie down," Weiss instructed.  Ruby did so, and lay down beside her on the mattress.  Weiss rolled over on top of her.  Reaching up, she cupped both Ruby’s breasts in her hands.  They were bigger than hers; Weiss knew that of course, but now she felt them in her hands.  The white-haired woman lifted them and lower her face to lick and suck the younger woman’s nipples.

Ruby moaned under the treatment.  Weiss sucked on one then moved to the other and repeated the process.  First she lapped at the test with her tongue.  Then she fastened her lips around it and sucked.

Weiss moved down.  Pausing at Ruby’s belly, she swirled her tongue in her navel.  Weiss moved down further, using her hands to keep Ruby's thighs apart.  She looked down at the thatch of dark curls that covered her master's womanhood.  Weiss leaned in and dragged her tongue up the slit experimentally.  Ruby gasped at the action, while Weiss rolled the taste of the leaking fluid she had tasted around in her mouth.  It wasn't unpleasant, she thought.  She moved her hands in and pulled the swollen labia apart.  She looked in on that wet pinkness.  It was, she thought, lovely.  Maybe it wasn't any different from any other woman's sex, but it seemed that way to Weiss.  Then, after a moment's hesitation, she extended her tongue and probed her mistress' pussy deeply. 

Ruby cried out as Weiss explored her passage with her tongue.  She swirled it around as she had done in the other woman's navel, tasting every inch.  The redhead was mewling and crying, sounding like the most needy kitty in the world.  "Weiss!  Mo—"  She bit her lip before she could give the order; this was Weiss' night.  She would be pleased or denied as it suited the white-haired woman.

Weiss smiled at that.  The collar didn't activate, but she wanted to reward the redhead.  She reached out with a pair of fingers and slowly thrust them into Ruby's passage after withdrawing her tongue.  Ruby moaned again through her bit lip and began thrusting her hips up and down to meet Weiss' thrusts.  Weiss smiled and bent her head down again and licked her clit.  "Yuuuuah!  Weiss!"  Ruby cried out.  Weiss continued licking and thrusting, curling her fingers so as to rub against that special spot on the top of the red reaper's passage.

Ruby screamed, kicking her legs out, and Weiss felt her mistress' body quake around her fingers.  Smiling, she continued as Ruby had, lapping ever harder at Ruby's jewel and rubbing harder with her fingers. 

Ruby collapsed against the mattress, limbs splayed out, panting, her eyes unfocused.  Weiss straightened up and smiled at the sight.  Despite the situation, she felt proud of herself.  The red reaper lay there for a moment before she caught her breath.  When she did, she forced herself up onto her elbows.  "Wow," she said a little awed.  Once more, Weiss felt a little flutter of pride (and something else) at the other woman's look.

"Thank you," the white-haired woman replied.  The two stared at each other for a moment, until it grew awkward.  "We should, that is, I suggest we go to sleep."

"Right.  Sleep," Ruby said.  "Yeah, let's do that."

The two crawled up the sheets back to the pillows.  There was a slight difficulty as they realized they were still on top of the blankets.  Ruby crawled on top of her pillow and pulled them back.  Weiss was too proper to do something like that, so she got off the bed and had a moment of unease as she discovered her legs didn't want to stand.  Ruby yanked the sheets back for her and held out her hand to her slave.  Weiss—too tired to think—gripped her hand and allowed her mistress to haul her back into the bed.  Ruby hauled a little hard, though, and Weiss basically fell against her.

The pair blushed anew.  In spite of their previous activities, the two still scrambled back to opposite sides of the bed.  Not that doing so did any good; Ruby's mattress wasn't that big. 

"Good night," Ruby said, reaching over to her lamp and flicking it off.

"Good night," Weiss replied, doing the same. 

The pair settled down on their respective edges, determined not to touch each other.  They soon became drowsy and fell asleep.  But, sleeping on the edge of the bed was uncomfortable, and the sleep pair soon moved more towards the middle.  When the touched each other, their semi-conscious minds could only recognize something warm and soft.  Ruby instinctively wrapped her arms around whatever it was; Weiss, less accustomed to such overt displays of affection and physical closeness, still cuddling into the warm, soft something.  Waking would bring cries, shouts, and general awkwardness, but for tonight at least, the two slept soundly and happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruby's recital of the rulebook is inspired by G Gundam, which I bring up only because that was my favorite entry in the franchise.
> 
> The rule about needing to seal the bond with sex ASAP is taken from Radaslab’s story, and I did so mainly because I’m impatient and didn’t want to wait to get to the sex.
> 
> So, yeah, the Vytal Festival is LOWSY with cheating, and it’s only going to get worse in the chapter with the first match of Adam Taurus and Blake Belladonna.


	8. The Dragon, the Cat, and the Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy White Rose Week! Granted, Weiss and Ruby are only a small part of this chapter, but I only finished today because I wanted to make sure I got this out before the Week was over. 
> 
> On a maybe more accurate note, Happy Pride Month!
> 
> Apologies in advance (because the end note is already too long). Some of you may claim I’m misinterpreting Adam and Yang’s Semblances. I would argue there’s nothing in the show that suggests my description is wrong, but if you disagree, then just chalk it up to this being anAU, so I can change how Semblances work. I’m already changing everything about Ozpin . . .

Adam leaned over the side of the roof.  Below him was an empty stretch of alley between two rows of warehouses. No one was hiding in the shadows—the lowlifes had learned that lesson the hard way.  Even up in the relative safety of the rooftops, he was alone. He shifted a little.  Despite his standoffish nature, it had been a long time since Adam had gone on a mission with no backup at all, not ever Blake.  That was a dangerous move for a Faunus, even one as skilled as he was.  Especially given how dangerous his target was. 

Adam was strong, proud, and very nearly fearless, but he was no fool.  In a fair fight, he'd have no chance against this enemy.  Even though his target was a woman, he knew that much.  Heck, even with Blake and in a two-on-one situation, his victory wasn't guaranteed.  It was unpleasant to admit, but there was no way Adam could win in a fair fight, not against this person.  Probably not against others, either.

Adam had spent the weeks leading up to the start of the Festival Soul-searching.  He knew that as a Faunus he would be at a distinct disadvantage in terms of resources and training compared to his Human adversaries.  As would all of the others who took part in the Festival.  Yet, for Faunus everywhere he had to win, even if it meant embracing some of the less admirable methods he’d honed over his years with the White Fang.

  It had taken some planning.  His first conclusion being that he needed to secure a powerful team in order to advance through the Festival, but of course, the more powerful his opponents, the more likely they were to beat him—and take Blake.  That was unacceptable.  To that end, he had made the painful decision to perform this . . . Coup.  He hadn’t told Blake; she was so loyal that it would only hurt her to be a part of this.  It had hurt him to go behind her back, but it was for the best.  She would forgive him, he knew, in time.  Once she understood that what he had done was necessary.

The horned Faunus had been forced to spend a lot of the White Fang’s resources setting this up—not only in bribing the Festival officials to match him up with his deserved opponent, but in setting up this ambush as well.  If successful, it would tip the odds in his favor drastically.  If it failed . . . he was a dead man.  But, it wouldn’t fail.  He knew his target, knew her ways, her habits.   She went jogging every night, covering a mile of the lonely waterfront area; her dedication to physical training was impressive, but it also made her vulnerable.  This was a bad part of Vale.  Muggings, drug deals, and other unwanted activities happened on a nightly basis.  If the woman he was waiting for wasn't so skilled, she would be easy prey to anyone.  She would, however, be easy prey to him . . .

Which was rather ironic, when you thought about it.

Adam heard footsteps; she was coming.  He ducked behind the ledge and waited.  She was moving at a steady pace, even though she had passed him twice already on her circuit.  That was troubling; it meant the men he had hired to . . . lighten her up hadn't given her much trouble.  It didn't matter, he reminded himself, they weren't the bulk of his plan.  That honor went to the small device he held in his hand.  It was a simple disposable scroll, the kind many Faunus carried because they couldn't afford normal scrolls.  The number he punched into it wasn't too impressive either; it belonged to another burner.  That scroll, however, was wired to a jar of Fire Dust powder, and as soon as Adam heard her footsteps come to the right place, he hit the CALL button, and the electrical charges ignited the Dust.

The black of night was consumed by orange light; the silence was replaced with a thunderclap that sent Adam's ears ringing.  Climbing up again, Adam peaked back over the ledge and looked down the barrel of Wilt.  There she was; she had been blown into the wall of one of the warehouses.  Her Aura had protected her, but even so, she had taken major damage.  Despite this, he knew she was still strong; she could still fight.  He breathed in the smoky air, steadying himself, and pulled the trigger three times.

His ears were still ringing from the explosion, so he couldn't hear her grunts, but he saw her body flinch as each one of his rounds hit her.  He smirked.  Looking off in the distance, he could see the lights of the fire department.  His prey would receive aid, she would survive, but she was greatly weakened.  Most people would drop out of the Festival after what she had experienced, but Adam knew Sienna Khan.  Her pride wouldn't let her back down from a fight.  No, she would show up in the arena tomorrow, and he and Blake would defeat her and claim her as their own . . .

* * *

Winter woke up sore.  It was not an entirely unpleasant soreness, unfortunately.  She wanted to hurt, hurt like Weiss was hurting right now.  She beat her legs in frustration.  "Dammit.  Dammit!"

"Winter?  Are you all right?"

She didn't turn to look beside her; she couldn't stand the thought of the look of concern on the Consort’s face.  "I'm fine," she said.

She could hear Glynda's frown.  "Let me look you over."

Winter clenched her teeth but did as her mistress ordered.  She let the older woman look her gently poke and prod her, moving her body as directed so that the other blonde could examine her from every angle.  Every bite mark, scratch, and bruise was scrutinized like an art collector looking for proof of a forgery. 

At length Glynda sighed, content.  "You have no excessive physical damage.  Now," she looked Winter in the eye.  "What are you so upset about?"

"It's . . . personal . . ." Winter growled out.  She didn't like evading her problems, but she didn't think her family problems were any of this woman's business.

"I don't care," Glynda said.  "What's wrong?"

"Isn't it obvious?" a third voice broke in.  Glynda turned around as her not-so-dead husband rose from his place in the bed.  Smiling sadly at Winter, he explained.  "She's concerned for her sister."

"I'd expect she is," Glynda said.  "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"She wanted us to hurt her," Ozpin explained.  "But we failed."

Glynda snorted.  "I see plenty of proof to the contrary."

"Indeed," Ozpin noted.  "What I mean is, we didn't hurt her as bad as she wanted to be hurt."  He looked Winter in the eye.  "As badly as Weiss was hurt."

Winter held his gaze for a moment, but then dropped it.  "My younger sister . . . she's become a sex toy to a teenager.  How can I just sit here and . . . "

Glynda frowned.  "Unfortunately, that's all you can do right now, thanks to the laws."  Winter's body tightened, and the older woman reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, careful to avoid the tender area.  "I'm sorry.  We won't give up on her, I promise."

Winter took in a shaky breath and let it out.  ". . . Thank you," she whispered.

"Also," Ozpin said, cutting in.  "I may be naïve, but I have reason to believe," he tapped his temple, "that Miss Weiss did not suffer as badly as you fear she has . . ."

* * *

When Weiss and Ruby awoke that morning, there was naturally a great deal of screaming. Specifically, screaming from Weiss as she discovered Ruby wrapped around her.  “GET OFF OF ME!” She screeched.

Ruby, meanwhile, went from sleeping peacefully to awake and embarrassed and tried to perform damage control.  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!  I’m sorry! . . .”

Needless, to say, this went on for quite a while.  Eventually, though, the pair wore themselves out and collapsed on opposite sides of the bed.  The two sat in awkward silence (apart from their panting) for a moment.  Ruby recovered her breathe first, even though her skin remained almost as red as her hair.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered again, looking down at her lap rather than at Weiss.

The ex-Schnee continued to sulk for another moment, also not willing to look at the other woman.  Eventually, however, her pride broke down, and she was forced to analyze the situation objectively.  “No . . .” she forced out.  “I’m the one who should be sorry.  You’re my mistress.  If you want to hold me like a stuffed animal, it’s your right.  I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

”What?” Ruby asked, looking up.  “No!  No, Weiss!” She said, waving her arms in front of her in a clear “cut it out,” gesture.  “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to!  I wouldn’t have even had sex with you last night if we didn’t have to!  Er, not that you aren’t pretty or that it was bad or anything!  It was actually really good!  Not that I thought it’d be bad, I mean.  What I mean is, um . . .  I mean uh . . .  That is ah . . .”

Ruby’s motormouth finally ran out of steam as more blood was diverted from her brain to her face and she was left stuttering incoherently.  Despite herself, Weiss found the sight adorable, but she had no intention of informing her mistress of this fact.  Still, the younger woman’s babbling made her realize a question she’d been too . . . distracted to ask last night.”

"How were you that good?"

"What?" Ruby asked.

"You said you were a virgin, right?" Weiss asked, slowly so as not to offend the woman who effectively had complete control over her.  When the redhead nodded to her question, the snowy-haired woman continued.  "So how are you so good at sex?"

Ruby blushed.  "Well . . . um, I have . . . read stuff, and . . ." here she mumbled.

"What?" Weiss pressed.

"I have . . . done stuff.  Just not with other people."

Weiss felt her own face heat up, as she realized what the other woman was talking about.  Her mouth went dry and she looked down.  It shouldn't have surprised her, really.

"Show me," she said.  The words coming out of her mouth before she could think about them.

". . . All right," Ruby said.

Ruby lay back and ran her hands over her body.  Starting with her thighs, she ran them up over her stomach, her pert breasts and nipples, her neck, and finally her cheeks.  Then she hugged herself, wrapping her arms around her stomach to touch her hips on opposite sides.  The younger woman ran them up over her ribs and under her breasts.  Weiss watched, enraptured.  Ruby cupped her own breasts, kneading the warm flesh with her own hands. 

“I always liked playing with my breasts,” Ruby said, blushing even more.  “I like the way they squish in my hands.  Mynipples are kind of sensitive too.  So, I like to rub them as they get stiffer . . .  It, it gets harder to move them, but it feels really gooood.”

The younger woman let out a moan as she played with her nipples.  Weiss watched, entranced.  Unconsciously, her own hand moved towards her womanhood.  

“I . . . I like to get myself really turned on before I touch myself down there,” Ruby’s whispered.  She reached down and began rubbing her swollen labia.  Weiss inserted her own fingers into her passage as she watched.  Ruby continued massaging her lips before she pulled her hand up and ran her tongue over the length of her fingers.  Weiss groaned at the sight.  ”I can’t . . . Lick myself . . .” Ruby panted.  “So, I . . . I lick my fingers, get them wet . . . Then, use it.”  So saying, she reached down slid her index and middle fingers into herself.  “I—oh, gosh!—I curl them . . . against me, and pretend their someone’s, someone’s tongue.  That I’m getting licked.”

Weiss was moving her hands faster and faster within herself, applying pressure to every angle she enjoyed.  Her tongue came out, and she licked her lips at the sight in front of her.

”And then I—“ Ruby’s voice caught in her throat as she removed her hand from her tunnel and moved it up to her erect clit.  Now, Weiss could see the finger curling motion in action.  “Then I move up to here . . . To finish—OMIGOSH!”

Ruby arched her body and scrunched her face as she came.  Weiss took it all in: her bouncing breasts, her hand at her clit, her muscled legs, and the look of beautiful, uncontrollable ecstasy in her expression.  The former Schnee moved her free hand to her own clit and rubbed it in time with the hand going wild within her.  Almost instantly, her own orgasm came crashing over her, drawing out a single, wordless cry.  “OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!”

The two collapsed against pillows, flushed and panting once more, but for a very different reason.  Also unlike before, they were now unable to take their eyes off each other.  “Ruby . . .” Weiss started.

_BEEP-BEEP!  BEEP-BEEP!_

Ruby shot up in bed and grabbed her screeching scroll.  “OMIGOSH!  We overslept!  Yang’s match is the next one!  And it starts in five minutes!  Come on!  We have to get to the TV!”

“Ruby!  Calm down!  You’re running through the apartment naked!” Weiss called after the blur of petals that remained in her mistress’ wake, even as she tried to pick up their clothes off the floor. 

* * *

"Introducing Adam Taurus and his sacrifice—Blake Belladonna!" Port announced.

The pair entered the arena and were immediately greeted with all the enthusiasm the crowd had to offer.

"BOOOOOOO!"

"Go back to the farm, you animals!"

"Hey, Cat!  Are you ready to become a Human's bitch?"

Blake tried to remain impassive in face of the cloud's jeering.  Beside her, though, Adam's hand trembled in rage.  She couldn't see half of his face because of the large, visor-style sun glasses, he wore, but she knew it was contorted into a scowl.  "Calm down," she whispered.  "We'll show them how wrong they are."

A low growl rumbled in Adam's throat, but he swallowed it.  He sighed and smiled.  "We'll show them all," he agreed.

"And their opponent—a solo entry—Yang Xiao-Long!"

Yang strutted into the stadium radiating confidence like a torch radiated heat.  She didn't care that she was facing two opponents, both well-armed and being Faunus probably more pissed than she was.  She would win this fight; she would, because she had to.  Losing wasn't an option right now, not until she beat Ruby.

She was smiling, trying to show just how sure she was that she would win.  Above her the crowd was cat-calling (no, that was when they were insulting her opponent; this was just lecherous jeering), making comments about her figure, bestiality references, insulting her intelligence . . .  She wanted to dive into the crowd and beat them all senseless, but she couldn't.  She had to stay focused.  So, instead of scowling, she smiled even more brightly.  You can look boys, she thought, but you'll never get to touch.  Never.

Unlike the gorgeous woman she was going to fight.

As soon as the woman's name was announced, Adam growled.  "What?" Clenching his sword in his hand, he growled out "He lied to me . . ."

"What?" Blake asked, glancing at him.  "What are you talking about?"

"The little worm, he lied to me about my opponent.  It means I went after the wrong woman!"

Blake's eyes widened.  "Went after . . . ?"

"And now let's see what fields they'll be fighting on!" Port announced.  The video-style double slot machine began spinning.  Colors flashed through green, blue, yellow, red, orange, etc.  After a minute, it came to a stop.  "Oh, my!  A double selection!"

"Indeed!" Oobleck cried.  "Both screens landed on the tropical icon.  For the first time in this Festival, we have a unified arena!  Let's see it in action!"

The battlefield around the three shifted and changed, becoming an archetypical tropical island, complete with a wrecked pirate ship.  Approximately half or maybe just a third of the arena floor was covered in water.  The "island" itself was a crescent with a sandy beach, tall grass, palm trees and various stones. 

"Fight!"

Yang decided not to waste time; she immediately fired off a barrage of punches—and thus a barrage of explosive bursts—at her opponents.  The Cat Faunus dodged them, dashing into the foliage.  The Bull-horned one, by contrast, slashed them all with his sword which started . . . glowing.  He charged forward. 

Yang blocked with her arms.  She gritted her teeth as her opponent pressed against her.  Rustle.  What—yipe!  Yang rolled to the side as her female opponent leapt out of the trees and leapt at her back. 

Blake snuck through the trees, watching Adam and the blonde Human. It was impressive that she’d managed to block Adam’s strike, even if he wasn’t at full power.  The blonde was strong and determined, and for a moment, Blake felt regret for what she was going to do.  It was a shame they couldn’t have a fair fight, but then the world was filled to bursting with unfairness. Drawing Gambol Shroud and its scabbard, she crouched her legs and sprung forward at the blonde’s back.  

Unfortunately, she couldn’t do this without making a racket.  The Human heard her and rolled to the side.  Blake threw her ribbon Kama, but the blonde knocked it aside.  But that gave Adam the opening he needed.  He shot her in the side.

To everyone’s surprise, Yang didn’t fall.  In fact, her aura seemed to flare. 

Yang felt the shot hit her ribs through her aura.  Gonna have a brand new bruise tomorrow, she thought.  If that was the price she had to pay, however, she'd gladly pay it", because that one shot had backed enough juice to kick off her Semblance.  "Huuuuhhhh!" the blonde roared as she charged the horned man.  To her shock, he blocked with the flat of his blade.  A shadow fell on her, and the angry bruiser leapt back just in time.  The Cat-Faunus sliced down where she used to be. 

She's fast, Blake thought, before backflipping out of a doppleganger as the blonde brawler punched where she had been. 

Wow, Yang thought.  She's really good.  That thought was interrupted by a new blast of pain as her male opponent attacked her in the back.  Dirty fighter, she thought.  Was it just me, or did that one hurt a lot more?  Too late to find out now; the jerk had already run up to her and was doing his best to slice her to ribbons!  Yang went defensive, blocking his attacks with her gauntlets.  She was keeping up, but this was bad.  She couldn't bring her leg up to kick him back; his sword was too long, and he was swinging too fast.  All kicking would do would be to give her a leg injury.

"Oof!" Yang cried as her other opponent kicked her in the back.  Yang went into the water, struggling to her knees, she got another kick, this time to the ribs.  "Give up," the man said, pointing his sword at her.  "You've lost, Human.  You can't beat us."

Yang smirked.  "Your girlfriend kicks harder than you."

Despite herself, Blake couldn't help but like the Human.  She had seen older, larger, and presumably more experienced people scared stiff when facing down Adam's blade.  This was the first time she could recall seeing such defiance from an enemy.  Her partner, however, didn't seem as impressed.  Snarling, he charged forward and swung his sword at her.  To her surprise, though, the Human deflected the attack and then ducked under Adam's arm.  She punched him hard in the gut and sent him flying into the trees. 

"Adam!" Blake cried, watching him go flying.

"He was right," the Human said.  Blake turned around and saw her charging at her.  She flipped back as her enemy charged through a doppelganger.  The Human just charged right through it and continued towards her.  Blake had to pull her dodge-and-doppelganger trick again.  "I can't beat you both," the blonde explained.  "But I can beat you one at a time!"

So saying, she fired off a couple of blasts from her gauntlets; Blake had to dodge to the side instead of backwards, or she would have been nailed by the miniature explosions.  Blake realized she had to on the offensive if she wanted to stay in the fight.  She switched her sword to its gun-form and fired at the Human.  That seemed to slow her down; she stopped her charge and guarded her face with her gauntlets.  It wasn't working, not with her normal rounds.  Blake grimaced; she couldn't keep throwing away resources that she and her allies didn't have the money to replace (legally, at least).  She ejected the magazine and pulled out a second, this one containing ice rounds.  She loaded it into the gun, preparing to trap the Human in place.

It might have worked, if she could have done it instantly.  Instead, the Yang dropped her guard and charged at her once more, firing more shots her way.  Blake dodged to the side.  She fired into the water, freezing it to create a floating platform.  This will slow her down, Blake thought, as she floated away from the shore.  She fired her own weapon.  The blonde rolled to the side as ice crystals erupted from the ground.  Blake tried to follow her, but Yang pulled a rock out of the ground and threw it at her.  Blake dodged, but forgot she was no longer on dry land.  She fell feet first into the water.  She sank down to the bottom, then pushed herself back up, using her legs to stay afloat.  When she looked back at shore, however, her opponent was gone. 

"Hrrrrrrraugh!" a voice cried from above her. 

Blake looked up and saw the angry blonde falling towards her.  She tried to swim away, but the blonde landed with a huge splash that sent her reeling.  Disorientated, Blake swam for the surface, dropping Gambol Shroud in the process.  Powerful arms gripped her and pulled her back.  To Blake's surprise, she was hauled up onto her ice float, before the Human climbed up too.  She panted a moment before aiming her weapon at the helpless Faunus.  "Give up, Kitty-Cat?" she asked, smirking.

Before she could answer, another voice called out, "Blake!"

Yang turned just in time to block a shot from the Bull Faunus' rifle/scabbard thing (Ruby would know what to call it).  She fumed; dang, but that guy was persistent.  Punching the ice float, she broke off a piece of it and chucked it at the man.  Unfortunately, he sliced it right in two.

Yang growled, formulating her next move. 

"Adam!" the beautiful woman beneath her (and how had she forgotten about that?) cried.  "She has your Semblance!"

Uh-oh, Yang thought.  That's not good.  Neither would be letting this one stay in the fight.  She hadn't been lying earlier; there was no way to beat both of them working together.  Thinking fast, Yang bent down and snatched the woman up.  I hope she lands on her feet, the blonde thought, before spinning around and sending the other woman flying into the air. 

Without her weapon, Blake couldn't stop or redirect her course, but she still had her aura.  Using it, she braced herself as she collided feet-first with the wall of the arena.  She pushed off, trying to make it back into the combat zone, but her angle was wrong.  Or, maybe she was just too tired.  Or, she guessed the incorrect amount of Aura needed to fuel the leap.  Whatever the cause, Blake found herself skidding along the ground outside the ring, rolling until she was just outside, her hand splashing in the water.  No!

"And Ms. Belladonna is out of the match!" Port announced.

"Indeed!" Oobleck added.  "For anyone whose forgotten—or failed to read—the Festival rulebook, making contact with the ground outside the ring results in an automatic defeat.  Adam Taurus is on his own now!"

"And he does not look happy about that," Port observed.

No duh, Yang thought as the Bull Faunus bellowed in fury before shoving his sword back into its scabbard.  Huh, what's he doing that for—Whoa! Yang thought as her opponent drew his blade out again lightning-fast, and actually cut the _water_ in twain.  His slash or shockwave or whatever was so strong, it sliced through the ice she was standing on.  Now, it was Yang's turn to fall into the water and bob to the surface.

"You bitch!" the Bull yelled.  "You think you can ruin all my plans that easy?  I'm going to teach you that you can't beat me!  And tonight, after I win, I'll—"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a torrent of water as Yang used all the remaining rounds in her Ember Celica to rocket herself out of the water.  She flew through the air and landed once more on the false beach.

"Cute," Adam said.  "So you want to be direct then?"

"That's my preferred method," Yang noted.  She flexed her arms and ejected her spend cartridges and threw up two new ammo belts.  They landed in the proper place, and she resumed her boxing stance.

Adam laughed.  "Nice party trick, but you know it's useless.  We have the same Semblance.  I can slice through your explosions, and if you were planning to move in, I can block all your punches.  The difference is," he brandished his sword.  "I'll bet I can cut through your Aura."

"Maybe you can," Yang said.  Then she fired a barrage of shots at the Bull Faunus. 

He continued to look smug, right until he realized Yang hadn't reloaded her gauntlets with explosive rounds.  Instead of the bursts of heat and force that had flown earlier, he was now faced with fireballs.  He tried to dodge, but it was too late; he caught most of the blasts.  His Aura protected him from the worst of it, but its was clear he wasn't as good at absorbing heat as he was kinetic energy.  Just like her.  Yang ran at him while he was trying to dealing with the fact that he was now on fire.  He heard her—Faunus hearing—and swung wildly with his sword, but his vision obscured by the flames.  Yang dodged low, and he cut through air.  Then, she grabbed his arm in one hand while wrapping her own arm around his waist.  She hoisted him into the air and slammed down onto his shoulder.  He grunted with the impact, and she slammed her fist into his gut, pulling the trigger as she did so, releasing another fireball at point-blank range.

"Adam Taurus' Aura is in the red!" Oobleck announced.  "The winner is Yang Xaio-Long!"

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Adam screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that happened.
> 
> I know some people wanted/expected Adam to win here, but I think him losing and Yang staying a free agent longer is better for the plot and what I want to do with both characters. It opens up stiff for Blake too, since unlike Weiss, she was in a relationship prior to becoming a slave.
> 
> Thanks to those of you who suggested Adam not be a complete bastard. I was kind of inspired by that. Yes, what he did to Sienna is pretty bad, but I hope I conveyed that he DOES genuinely care for and is close to Blake at this point in his life. Though, now that he’s lost her and his chance at improving the lives of Faunus by becoming emperor, we see how that changes.
> 
> Also, more hints dropping about the relationship between Winter, Glynda, and Ozpin. I originally wanted to show the rough sex Winter requested they have, but this chapter was difficult enough to write already, and it would’ve messed the timeline up, so . . . maybe later?


	9. Plans, Plots, and Strategies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Angst with a happy ending.
> 
> Also, we get to learn what Yang’s motivations for joint the Festival are. This is something I’ve had planned basically from the beginning, so I’m really excited to finally reveal it.
> 
> Happy 4th of July, everyone! Even if you’re British! Hope it was a good day, wherever you hail from!

“Wow,” Ruby said.

”Your sister is . . . Impressive,” Weiss admitted.

”I know, right?” Ruby said.  “I didn’t even know she could do that!”

”You didn’t?” Weiss asked.  She turned to look at her mistress sideways.  Doing so, she had to fight to suppress a blush.  Ruby had thrown on a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants.  They weren’t actually that flattering, but, from this angle, the ex-Schnee had an excellent view of the younger woman’s bust, which stirred up memories of what lay underneath that top.  Not now, she thought to herself.

Unaware of how she was being scrutinized, Ruby shook her head.  “No.  As we started prepping for the Festival, we didn’t train together as much.  Or spend much time together in general.  Or at all, really.”

”Why not?”  Weiss frowned.  It felt wrong to her that the two sisters had spent so little time together before an event that would lead to at least one of them being enslaved.  

“Yang didn’t like me entering the Festival,” Ruby admitted.  “She had some messed up ideas on what was going to happen.”  She hung her head at those words, frowning and crossing her arms.

Weiss thought about asking what Ruby meant.  It was tempting, very tempting,  but the younger woman just looked too closed off.  She had the feeling Ruby wouldn’t want to answer her.  So, she barreled on.  “I suppose that means I can’t ask you for advice on how to fight her, if we have to.”

Ruby shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Maybe.  Her fighting style doesn’t seem to have changed that much, and I still know her Semblance.”

”Good,” Weiss said.  “. . . You realize, of course, that she knows as much about you?”

”Ye-ep.” Ruby answered, popping the p at the end.

”Wonderful,” Weiss muttered.  “This is going to be a difficult fight.”

”Maybe,” Ruby said.  “But I’ll do what I have to to protect her.  Especially from herself.”

* * *

 Adam refused treatment.  He didn’t need nor did he desire for any humans to put their hands on him.  So, instead of heading to the infirmary, he tried to get to Blake. Ironically, this lead to a pair of very large humans putting their hands on him.

”Buzz off, loser,” one said as he and his buddy shoved Adam back.  He looked and sounded bored, as if he’d done this so often it was no longer even annoying, just routine.

”Let me through,” Adam yelled.  “I have to see Blake!”  As though they knew who that was.

The second guard sneered.  “Sorry, horn-head.  Your bitch is getting to know her new owner.”  He chuckled.  “First time I ever envied one of those animals.  I mean, did you see the cans on that girl?”

The first one grinned.  “Hope she’s into women, or the experience I’ll be lost on her.”

”NO!” Adam screamed.  He tried to push past them once again.  His body was aching all over from the beating the Human had given him, but he pushed it further, flailing wildly.  Trying to get past them.  If he could just get past them . . . “Let me see her!  Let me see her!  Blake!  BLAKE!”

The first one hit him hard in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.  As Adam crumpled to the ground, he said “Sorry buddy.  But if you’re this broken up, you should have thought before asking her to be your sacrifice.”

”What to you expect from Faunus?” The other said.  “They don’t have the brains to plan ahead.”

Clutching his gut, Adam forced himself back to his feet.  He kept his head low, something he’d once promised hims of he”d never do in the sight of humans; he didn’t want to let them see his tears, trailing out from behind this glasses.  They were right.  He’d been so stupid.  He never believed her could lose, never paused to consider that the person he’d bribed would take his money and lie to him.  He’d been so sure of himself, and it had cost him Blake.

Stumbling back out of the hall, back out of the stadium and into the streets.  Adam vowed that he would make this right.  He would help his fellow Faunus claim the throne, and he’d find a way to make Blake his again.  Hold on, Blake, he thought.  I promise I’ll bring you home.

* * *

Though Yang didn’t know it, she was much less patient than her sister, at least in one area.

Yang took Blake into the bedroom of her apartment.  There was no awkward conversation.  No dinner.  No television.  The blonde just lead her  cat-eared slave up to the bed.

“I’m sorry about this,” Yang said, frowning.  This was so awful, it made her sick, but she knew what she had to do.  Taking a deep breath, she ordered, “Strip.”

Blake wasn’t feeling any better than her new mistress did.  Not only had she been enslaved, but to a Human.  She hadn’t just failed her people; she felt as though she was actively betraying them.  The only comfort was that said Human looked to be no happier about this than she herself was.  That and the fact that she literally had no choice in the matter.  Feeling the collar she wore heat up, she did as as she was ordered, removing her jacket, her top, her bra, her bots, her socks, her shorts, and finally her panties.  She didn’t try to make it seem enticing or sensual.  She just did as she was ordered and steeled herself for what was to come.

She stood straight up, and Yang (who had been busy disrobing herself) swallowed at the sight.  Wow.  In between everything else, Yang had forgotten that she was expected to have sex with a gorgeous woman.

Blake had long, muscled legs that Yang just itched to run her hands over.  Her crotch was mostly shaven except for an arrow of dark hair that pointed towards her slit.  Her waist was small, giving her a slight hourglass figure without looking anorexic.   Her stomach was toned and flat but without Yang’s noticeable ab muscles.  Her breasts were modest with small, brown nipples.  And that was below the neck.  Now that she was looking at her, really looking at her, Yang admitted that Blake had a lovely, regal-looking face.  With golden eyes that shown with guarded emotion, and cute cat-like ears that Yang wanted to pet and scratch and nibble . . .

Blake fidgeted a little, not pleased and terrified that her mistress clearly found her desirable.  It would probably come down to what kind of person she was. At least her mistress was pleasant to look at, she thought.  Yang was tall and built like someone who exercised as a regular routine.  Her arms, legs, and stomach all looked like they were taken from an ancient Valic male statue.  Her other parts looked taken from a female one: large breasts with equally large nipples, small waist, large butt, utterly hairless genitalia.  Her eyes were beautiful too, the big lavender orbs wide in awe, set in a well-formed face with full-kissable lips—Wait, What?

Yang took a step forward, then stopped.  “Um, is there anything you don’t want me to do?  Anything I should know?”

That took Blake by surprise.  It actually took her a moment to work out what was being asked of her.  She eyed the blonde human for a moment, trying to discern if this was a trick or not.  “. . . Don’t touch my ears.  And . . . Let’s leave anal sex off the table for now.  I’ve only done that with one other person, and it took almost a year before I trusted him enough to do that.”

”Right.  So, is it just penetration that’s off the table, or should I avoid your cheeks all together?”

”Just penetration.  I, ah, I actually enjoy when my partner plays with my buttocks.”  Blake was blushing as she admitted that. Was it a good idea to admit what she wanted?  Would Yang use it against her?  Good Heavens, last night, she’d fallen asleep in Adam’s arms, and now she discussing her sexual preferences with this stranger!

Yang smiled.  “All right.  I can do that.  For me, it’s my hair.  Don’t mess with my hair; it’s kind of a trigger for me.  Running your hands through it is fine, but don’t pull too hard.  Got it?”  Blake nodded.  “Good.  Well, here we go.”  Yang closed the distance between the two of them and pulled the other woman into a hug and a deep kiss.

Blake was surprised by the action.  The kiss was strong but inviting, asking Blake to take part in the action, yet the arms holding her were unexpectedly gentle.  The strong muscled limbs held her close, mashing them together breast to breast, but it didn’t hurt.  Instead, the embrace felt safe, protective even.

Yang broke the kiss and then started laying a series of gentle kisses on Blake’s cheek, down her jaw, a line down her neck (above, over, and below the collar), trailing along her collarbone, then down to the valley of her breasts.  Blake moaned as Yang’s hands came around and cupped her breasts.  Yang kissed one nipple, then licked it twice.  Then she turned to the other and did likewise, kissing and licking the small bud before moving to kiss down Blake’s belly.  Her hands moved to grasp the front of her breasts, and the Cat Faunus found herself running her hands through the blonde’s wavy hair.

Yang had kissed down Blake’s flat tummy to and over her navel.  Now she kissed below it.  Now on the small triangle of black hair.  Then, she kissed the hooded clit.  Blake gasped and dug her hands into Yang’s mane.  The blonde paused, and they both breathed slowly, waiting to calm down.  Slowly Blake removed her hands from Yang’s hair and reached up to cup her own breasts.  Simultaneously, Yang released her slave’s mammaries, sliding them down and around her body to grasp her butt.  Yang squeezed the flesh in her hands as she leaned her face in and lapped at Blake’s slit.  She angled her face to lick every centimeter of the Faunus’ labia.

Blake stifled moans at the other woman’s actions.  Then her mistress shuffled around to her side.  Strong hands on her waist spun her to the opposite side before pressing her forward.  Blake let go of her breasts and used them to catch her fal.  She realized she was half-lying on the bed with her lower half hanging off the side.  Fear rocked through her at the realization of how vulnerable she was in this position.  Especially the area she had identified as sensitive.  Would her new mistress honor her promise, or was it all a trick?  Was it all—Her hands were spreading Blake’s ass!  

Yang leaned in and licked the length of Blake’s slit once more before plunging her tongue into Blake’s pussy.  She heard Blake gasp loudly and smiled.  The blonde swirled her tongue around, tasting every inch of her lover’s channel while her hands continued to knead Blake’s wonderful butt—squeezing and spreading and lifting the cheeks.

Blake squirmed on the bed, instinctively pressing her groin into her lover’s mouth.  Adam had never been this good.  Adam.  The name cut through the fog of lust and warm feelings like a razor.  Adam, she thought.  Adam, I’m sorry. Please, forgive me . . . !

Blake bit her lip to keep from crying out as her orgasm came crashing over her.

Yang lapped up her slave’s love juices.  Hmmm, a little fishy, she thought, but thing the kink of lasting another person’s orgasm had always had a stronger influence on her than the taste.  She climbed up onto the bed to snuggle up with her lover.  That was when she realized something horrible.  “Are you . . . Crying?” She asked.  Blake’s back was to her, but still, despite her efforts to be quiet, she sniffled a little. Yang’s heart sank.   “Oh, Grimm and Dust!” Yang cried.  She wrapped her arms around Blake and held her close.  “I’m sorry!” She said.  “I’m sorry!  I’m so, so sorry.  I wasn’t think!  I just, I just . . .”

Blake shifted in her arms, turning to face her.  The Faunus was definitely crying now.  She burrowed deeper into Yang’s arms, burying her face in the blonde’s breasts.  “I, I had . . . My partner, Adam . . . He was my boyfriend.  I loved him, and now . . .”

Yang gently stroked her hair, whispering to her.  No she was not a whore or an adulteress.  She had no choice.  It was Yang’s fault.  She hadn’t been thinking about what Blake might have lost.  She’d been an idiot.  It was all her fault.  Blake should hate her. Not herself.  Never herself.

Finally, Blake’s tears subsided.  Wiping her eyes, she whispered, “Thank you.”

Yang smiled sadly.  “No problem, Kitty Cat.  I’m really sorry.  I just . . . I was stupid.”

”Well, for what it’s worth, you’re very good at sex when you’re stupid.”

Yang chuckled.  “Thanks.  I’m glad.”  They we’re silent or a moment.  “. . . Listen, Blake . . . I know we’ll have to have sex again to keep the bond stable, but I promise, I won’t ask you for it when you don’t need or want it, and I’ll do my best to make sure it’s always good for you.”

”. . . Thank you,” Blake said.  Again, they were silent.  “You know . . . Mistress . . .”

”Yang.  I’m Yang.”  The blonde shook her head.  “You don’t have to call me Mistress.”

”All right . . . Yang,” Blake said, and the name felt odd on her tongue.  It was as though she was tasting a new food, had received a gift she’d never expected and didn’t know how to react to.  “To cement the bond, I have to pleasure you.”

”Oh, right.  I forgot.  . . . Well,” Yang said.  “I like rough sex.  Aside from the no hair-pulling thing, I’m good with fighting in bed.  Even losing the fight.”

”Really?” Blake asked.

”Yep.  So, if you wanted to do basically anything, it’ll probably count.”

Blake mulled over her words and compared them to what she knew of the bond.  “I’m pretty sure you need to, to order me for it to count.”

”OK,” Yang said, smiling gently.  “Blake, I order you to pleasure me in any way that you sit fit.  Do whatever you want to me.”

Blake felt the collar on her neck begin to warm.  “All right,” she said.  “Lie down,” She said, gesturing to the pillows.

Yang did so, stretching out on the mattress, she lay her hands down by her sides, palm-up.  Blake drank in the sight before her.  So strong, so beautiful, so full of life, and yet completely at her mercy.  She crawled over, predatory, like a cat; the Effect was heightened by her golden eyes and straight, alert ears.  Staring down at her mistress, deep into her eyes.  There was fear there, but not for herself; no, Yang desperately wanted to atone to her.  “Don’t move,” Blake ordered before she leaned forward and kissed her full lips.

It wasn’t like Yang’s kisses.  Blake’s were quick and sharp—she nibbles at the lips as she kissed, tugged them as she withdrew.  Yang moaned under her actions.  She really was turned on by these actions.  Blake smirked and moved down.  Pinning Yang’s shoulders with her hands, she began to bite along her neck.  The blonde groaned and squirmed under the stimulation, as Blake moved down to her collarbone and along her shoulder, moving her hand down to squeeze the bicep as she did so.

Yang was going crazy in her own mind.  She wanted to grab the Faunus in her arms, roll around on the bed and compete to see how could please the other more, who could derive more pleasure from time he other.  But, she couldn’t; she had to prove to Blake (and herself) that she could put others’ needs and desires before her own.

Blake left love bites across Yang’s body as she moved from the shoulder back across the clavicle, then down Yang’s impressive breast.  Blake bit her way down the boob, stopping before she hit the areola.  Instead she left a trail of bites around the pink teat.  Her left hand slid down Yang’s shoulder to grab the unoccupied breast and began toying with it.  Yang let out a long, feral moan, writhing under Blake’s touch.  The cat Faunus responded by sticking out her tongue and slowly dragging it up from the bottom of her breast, all around the areola, before finally across the nipple itself.  

Yang shook her head from side to side she wanted to beg Blake to do more, but she couldn’t.  She had to let Blake take the lead.  But it was driving her craaaaaaazzzzzzyyyyyyy.

Blake bit down on the nipple.  She pinched it between her teeth, ran said teeth back and forth across the small bud, and tugged it this way and that.  Her left hand mimicked the movements on its twin, just so the other tit wouldn’t feel left out.

Yang kicked her legs out, and Yang took that as a sign to move on.  She released the nipple in her mouth and resumed nibbling her way down Yang’s front.  Her ministrations drew more sounds from the Human, and her ears flicked in time with them.  She paused at the blonde’s bellybutton and swirled her tongue inside, drawing another moan from her mistress.  Smiling at her work, the Cat Faunus lifted up Yang’s right leg and bit her inner thigh.  Hard.  Yang groaned; she was sure there was a mark on the leg.

Setting the limb down, Blake climbed over the left leg, until she lay between them.  Bending down, she bit once more, this time on the left thigh.  Once more, Yang moaned as Blake put a new mark on her.

Blake leaned forward and kissed Yang’s mons.  The blonde groaned at the first bit of gentleness she’d received since Blake had licked her breast.  She groaned again when the Faunus nipped the spot.

Blake moved her mouth lower, nibbling Yang’s labia.  Then her clit, which drew a cry of surprise from her mistress.  Smirking, she dragged her tongue up over the human’s pussy.  Yang screamed and thrashed, gripping the sheets in her hands and kicking wildly.  Blake’s tongue was going soooooooo slow!  It was wonderful and agonizing at the same time.  Blake smiled and withdrew her tongue.  She crawled back up the blonde’s body.

Yang whimpered at her slave’s actions.  Blake’s smirk grew wider at the sight of the needy woman.  She held up her right index and middle fingers.  “Prepare them, Mistress,” she said.  Yang shuddered at the way she said the last word; it was more sultry than anything she’d ever heard.  Opening her mouth, she moved her head forward and took the fingers into her mouth.  This is SO hot, she thought, as she sucked on the fingers, licking them with her mouth; it was like she was giving the fingers a blow job.

Blake smiled and dragged her digits out of her mistress’ mouth.  “Thank you,” she said.  Then slowly moved back down to her earlier spot between her legs, though she wasn’t leaning down anymore; she fully intended to watch this.  Without preamble, she thrust her fingers into Yang’s pussy.  The blonde screamed at the action.  “So wet,” Blake observed, drawing her fingers out.  “Maybe I didn’t need you to prepare my fingers first.”  She thrust the fingers back in.  Scissoring them wide, Blake spun them around within Yang’s love canal.  “Not that you didn’t do a good job.  I wonder how experienced you are?  I’ll bet you’ve had dozens of men and women.  Haven’t you, my slutty mistress?”

Yang moaned again at her words and Blake’s smile increased as she watched the powerful, confident woman come undone.  “Oh, you like that don’t you?” she asked, as she drew her fingers back together.  Now touching the roof of Yang’s pussy, she felt her Human’s lover’s g-spot.  Applying pressure, Blake began rapidly drawing her fingers in and out.  “You like being called a slut?  A whore?  A bimbo who’ll fuck anyone?”

“YES!” Yang screamed.  “YES, YES, YES!  FUCK ME! AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”

Yang arched her back as she came—hard.  Her cunt clamped right around Blake’s fingers, so tight it hurt, but Blake didn’t let up; she just kept thrusting in and out until Yang collapsed in a panting, twitching mess.  Pleased with herself, she crawled over to Yang’s side.  Leaning down on her left arm and hip, the Faunus wiped her fingers off on the human’s bountiful bosom.

Yang groaned once more.  “Tease,” she whispered.

Blake smiled.  “You love it.”  The blonde just gave her a goofy smile that she took as an agreement.  That made her feel good, her ears falling into a relaxed position, but the feeling was soon squelched by a concern for the future.  “I’m sorry, Yang,” she said.

”For what?” The woman looked at her askance.  “For giving me the best orgasm I’ve ever had?” Yang asked. 

“For what I said,” Blake replied, looking away.

”Eh, not the first time.  Definitely not the worst time,” Yang replied.  After a moment she added, “Obviously, this wasn’t my first time.”

”I don’t believe any woman would be dumb enough to enter the Festival a virgin.”

The blonde laughed.  “Yeah.  I know.”

For a moment, the two just lay there, the Faunus looking down on the Human.  It was a strange moment, made even more so by the circumstances that had brought them there.  “So,” Yang asked, seeking to deal with the awkwardness with her usual solution—I.e. barreling on through it as though it wasn’t there.  “What made you want to sign up for this?”

Blake blinked, again surprised by her mistress.  “Adam and I hoped we could improve the lives of Faunus by winning and becoming the new monarchs.”

”Huh, I guess that makes sense.  I’ll bet you aren’t the only Faunus who thought of that,” Yang said.

”It’s an appealing idea,” Blake said.  She couldn’t lie to her mistress, but she didn’t want to acknowledge that she knew other White Fang competitors.  Yang could order her to betray their secrets, and she’d be powerless to resist.  Wanting to change the topic, she repeated Yang’s question back to her.  “Why are you competing?”

Yang sighed, her attitude deflating.  “It’s not as impressive as your reason.  I’m not trying to help an entire race; I’m just trying to help me sister.”

”Really?” Blake asked, genuinely intrigued.

“Our Dad died last year. He left us enough that we could last for a while, but even when you’re human, getting a job when you’re a woman isn’t easy, especially for a young woman. Ruby and I are basically on our own; Mom died when Ruby was little. We still have an uncle, Uncle Qrow; he’s a bounty hunter: Humans, Faunus, wild animals. He’s gone after all of it. He taught Ruby how to fight and helped her build her weapon. We talked about joining up with him for a while, a family of hunters.”

“Why didn’t you?”

"He can barely keep himself alive,” Yang said. “I love the man, but he’s a mess. I joined this mess to get a lot lien and give it all to Ruby. A little seed money for whatever she wants to do.”

"But she got the same idea.”

"Psht!” Yang snorted. “Ruby thinks she can win!”

“And you don’t?” Blake asked, surprised. Who in their right mind joined the Vytal Festival expecting to lose and be enslaved?

Yang shook her head. “I’m not quite that arrogant. My goal was to just win enough to give Ruby all the lien I won, then named her as my beneficiary for my dowry. Now, she’s gone and entered the dang thing, so I’ve got a new goal: I’m going to keep winning until I can face her and win. Unless she loses to someone else first.” Yang's fists clenched. "If that's the case, then I'll do whatever it takes to get her back, even if it means throwing the fight because bad guy is Rubes' master."

"How will that help?” Blake asked.

Yang smiled. “We’ll be together. We’ll both be slaves in the end, but if we’re slaves together, I can do whatever I can to keep her safe.”

"That's . . . You're a good sister, Yang," Blake said at length.

"Please, I'm the best sister," Yang said, smiling like a loon. It only lasted an instant, however. "I'm a lousy person, though. I'm sorry, Blake, I know this isn't how you wanted to spend the rest of your life."

Blake shook her head. "Ruby isn't the only one who had too much ambition for her own good. Besides, there are other Faunus in the Festival. Adam and I weren't the only hope for equality."  She bit her tongue as she said it.  Why has she done that?  She promised she wouldn’t, but something in her felt the need to be honest with Yang.  Was this a part of the bonding?

Yang saw the Cat Faunus’ ears flatten against her head, but decided to wait on asking about it; she didn’t want to abuse the power she had over this woman any worse than she already had.  Instead, she shrugged as though she didn’t notice anything wrong and forced herself up into a sitting position—or rather a leaning-against-the-pillows position.  She held out a hand to Blake. "Well, I'll tell you what, Blake. If we fight one of them after I win Ruby, then I'll just throw the fight, and we can team up with them."

Bemused, the slave took her mistress’ hand.  “Very generous of you.”  The Human and the Faunus shook.

"That's me, as generous as they come," Yang boasted again. "Just not with bed-space. Heads up: I tend to roll around a lot in my sleep."'

Blake groaned in response.

* * *

That night, Jacques sat alone in his office.  His chair was tall, like unto a throne.  And so it should be.  Did he not rule over a mercantile empire unmatched in all of Remnant?  Even the annexation of Atlas into Vale’s domain had not been enough to bring his company down.  Indeed, under his leadership, their new allegiance had allowed the SDC to reach new heights undreamed of in his father-in-law’s time.  He had crushed his rivals, even the businesses of Vale itself underfoot, as Th army of Vale had crushed Atlas’ resistance.  Except—unlike Vale—he didn’t need a an ambitious young board member secretly selling him munitions and supplies alongside his own countrymen.  

Normally, that thought brought a smile to Jacques’ face, that he had played both sides so magnificently.  If the people of Atlas knew, even his vast wealth wouldn’t be enough to save his life, but they wouldn’t know.  They couldn’t.  The only people who did were dead.  His throne was secure.

Except, it wasn’t a throne.  It was a chair.  A chair in an office.  And—thanks to his own witless, weak offspring—the throne of Vale was lost from his grasp, perhaps forever.  Of course, it wasn’t entirely their fault; there was also that lucky bitch of a child who’d beaten them.  They had underestimated her, but he had as well, when he’d chosen her as their first opponent.  He’d thought her the weakest, easiest competitor in the entire Festival.  No real challenge to anyone.  

She had fooled him.  He would see her suffer for that.

Which was what led him to his current position.  Across from him stood a man and woman.  Jacques didn’t care about the woman.  For that matter, he barely cared about the man.  He would serve Jacques’ purpose, or he would pay the price.

The two parties stared at one another in silence, a closed metal briefcase sat on the desk between them.  A minute past.  Then two.  Then five.  As the ten-minute mark approached, the man finally broke his silence.  “So, what is it you want us to do?”

Jacques smiles internally; he’d scored the first “point” in this conversation.  He waited a few seconds before replying, just to make it clear his own patience was nowhere near snapping.  “Young man, it’s not what you can do for me; it’s what I will do for you should you please me.”  Now that he had thrown the man off balance, he would further confuse him by making an offer instead of a request.

”Ah, yeah, ‘please,’” the man coughed.  “I’m, sorry, Mr. Schnee, but that’s not my style, if you know what I mean.”

Jacques Schnee allowed his scowl to deepen just a touch.  “Neither it seems, is comedic timing.  Allow me to make myself clear.”  Jacques reaches over to the briefcase and opened it.  Spinning it around, he showed its contents to the pair.  They looked down, an all attempts of cool detachment vanished.  Sitting in the briefcase, in molded padding was cases of Dust.  Not just regular, over-the-counter Dust either.  If the labels were true, they were high-quality, rare compounds—the sort of Dust you could only get through special orders that cost as much as a small car.  The entire case was worth a fortune.

When he judged they had recovers from their shock, Jacques continued.  “I will supply you with this rare Dust, as well as provide you funding for your matches.  In return, I expect you to win.”

”. .  . That’s it?  Win?” the man asked.  He shook his head.  ”No.  There’ more to it.  There’s always more to it.”

Jacques raised his opinion of the man a touch.  Perhaps he wasn’t a complete clout after all.  That was both assuring, and worrying.  “There is something,” he said.

The man’s reply was half-brag, half-sigh.  ”I knew it.”

”You must defeat this person in the next round,” he said, sliding a dossier across the table.  The man picked it up and opened it.  “And when you do, you will sell my daughter back to me, or rather to a third party of my choice.  Do we have a deal, Mr. Torchwick?”

The white-suited, redheaded man in the bowler hat smiled, amused at everything.  Beside him, the diminutive woman with tri-colored hair and heterochromia also smiled, albeit in a more menacing way.  Though he did his best not to show it, Jacques felt his blood cool at that smile.  

“Oh, yeah,” Roman Torchwick said.  “You got yourself a deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say that every time I write characters speaking racist or misogynistic lines, I feel sick inside? So, if Guard #2’s lines didn’t come off as bad enough . . . I’m sorry I’m not better at writing hate-speech, I guess?
> 
> I didn’t expect Blake and Yang’s first time to be that way, but in making Adam more likable and his relationship with Blake more positive (at least in its beginning) I realized I couldn’t make their bonding take the same course as Ruby and Weiss’. That conversation between them at the end, I had mostly written for the last chapter before I decided to push it back.
> 
> This isn’t to say that Adam will always remain sympathetic, or that Blake won’t be forced to look back on their relationship and re-evaluate it. Remember, Adam did convince her to join him in a tournament where she risked enslavement if they lost; Blake can only ignore the implications of that for so long.
> 
> It took me forever to decide that Ruby’s next opponent would be Torchwick. I kept going back between him, Mercury and Emerald, Cinder, even Coco and Velvet. In the end, I just decided “Screw it; he was Ruby’s first on-screen enemy. He gets to fight her sooner rather than later.”


End file.
